


Till The Water's All Long Gone

by anotetofollow



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Absence, Character Study, Cottagecore, Established Relationship, F/M, Hinterlands (Dragon Age), Lake Luthias, Original Character(s), Pastoral, Pining, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Rural, Slow Build, Trauma Recovery, Well of Sorrows (Dragon Age), countryside, farming, it's a cottagecore fic, none of the tags I want exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotetofollow/pseuds/anotetofollow
Summary: It has been five years since the Inquisition disbanded. Tanith Lavellan has made a new life for herself — a quiet life. A lonely life, now.
Relationships: Blackwall/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall/Female Lavellan
Comments: 21
Kudos: 57





	1. Drakonis

**Author's Note:**

> title from [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/1wncfdl5Pznx6yY3ngPDog)

Tanith pushed her thumb into the dirt, creating a small dip in the earth, then carefully scooped the first seedling out of its pot. They had sprouted well this year, the unseasonably warm weather tempting the tender green leaves early from their slumber. The spring sunshine was warm on her shoulders, the air as still as it ever was by the lake. At this rate she could plant the carrots early, get a head start on the year’s preserving.

As she brushed soil around the plant’s stem she made a mental list of the things that needed to be done that day. There were weevils in the spinach _again_ , and if that wasn’t sorted out soon they’d eat the entire crop. That needed dealing with. Then there was bread to bake, a shutter on the bedroom window that needed oiling, animals to feed. And there were the hundred little myriad tasks that always needed doing around the farm, some that would get done that day, some that would likely be neglected all season. Tanith would see how she felt once the more pressing matters were attended to. Such were the unremarkable thoughts that occupied her mind as she knelt in the dirt, feeling the nape of her neck grow hot beneath her braid.

Something whistled past her ear, and a split second later there was an arrow shaft sticking out of the fence post in front of her. For a moment Tanith just stared at it, blinking, her mind taking a moment to piece the image together. Then she dropped onto her belly, snatched up her staff, threw up a wall of ice just in time to deflect a second arrow. Her heart was thundering in her chest as she scrambled to her knees, keeping low behind the cover.

“Apostate!” The cry was high, panicked.

Crouched in the tilled earth, Tanith frowned. “There aren’t any apostates any more,” she called.

“What?”

“The war’s been over years, dullard.” A second voice, lower than the first. “Aren’t no apostates now. Don’t be thick.”

“Shut your trap, Errol.”

“Don’t be saying my name!”

Tanith peered over the barrier, the ice already starting to drip in the heat. The boys — for they _were_ boys, she saw — were standing twenty feet away from the cabbage patch, looking warily in her direction. The younger was maybe sixteen, round-faced and stocky, a shortsword clutched inexpertly in his hand. His companion was a year or two older, leaner. He held his hunting bow at half draw, mouth hard as he stared towards the block of ice. From their sandy hair and the similar set of their brows Tanith guessed they were brothers. Country boys, from the accents, not dressed for banditry.

Tanith rose slowly to her feet and stepped around the side of the barrier, keeping her staff levelled at her attackers. Then she whistled, and a few seconds later Corin came bounding out from the cabin. When he saw Tanith’s posture and the boys’ drawn weapons the mabari growled, dropping his shoulders low, ready to spring.

“Oh, shit,” the boy with the sword said, grabbing his brother by the arm. His had been the higher of the voices she’d heard. “Run!”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Tanith said. “A mabari can outrun a man. If you bolt he’ll go after you. Just put your weapons away and I’ll call him off.”

“Why should we?” the other lad — Errol — said. “You’ve got your weapon on us.”

Tanith nodded. “Alright. That’s fair. You lay yours down and so will I. Deal?”

They looked at each other, spoke some words too quiet for Tanith to hear.

“Deal,” Errol said a moment later. “On three.”

He counted down, and both Tanith and her assailants placed their weapons gently on the ground. The younger boy looked almost pleased to be rid of his sword, dropping the blade like it was a poisonous snake ready to bite him.

“Much better,” Tanith said. “Down, Corin. Good lad.”

The mabari dropped heavily onto his haunches, tongue lolling. Hand now free, Tanith scratched absently at the dog’s ears as she spoke. “What is it you’re hoping to gain from this, exactly?”

“I’d like to go home, miss,” the younger boy said quickly.

Errol sighed, looked at his brother like he wanted to cuff him about the head. “Gold. Supplies. Whatever there was.”

“And you decided that attacking an innocent woman in her home was the way to go about that, did you?”

Errol looked ashamed for a moment. The expression softened his face, made him seem much younger. “Aye. Doesn’t sound good when you say it like that. But we just wanted to give you a scare, is all. Wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“That arrow nearly took my ear off. I know it’s a big target, but still.”

“He’s a crack shot, miss,” Errol’s brother piped up. “If he’d been trying to hit you he would have. Promise.”

“Hmm.” Tanith narrowed her eyes at the lads, trying to decide the best course of action. They looked genuinely flustered, not at all like the brigands who had occasionally tried to rob her before. “Shall we start with names? Try and be civil about it? I’m Tan. You’re Errol, I presume— and you?”

The boy looked at his brother for permission. When Errol nodded he said, “it’s Jeb, miss.”

“Pleasure to meet you both,” Tanith said. “Now, care to tell me why you’re trying to rob my farm?”

“We told you. Gold and—”

“That’s the what, not the why,” Tanith said. “Why do you need gold so urgently that you felt the need to attack me?”

“We looked after Morcambe’s flocks,” Jeb said, his round face crumpling. “But the flux came through a month back and killed off every one of them. Weren’t no work for us after that.”

“I see,” she nodded. The flux had torn through the Hinterlands that winter, decimating the livestock at many a farmstead. It wasn’t surprising, she supposed, that it had driven a few people to desperation.

“We’ve our Gran at home,” Jeb continued. “She’s old, miss. Got to look after her somehow.”

“I understand perfectly well,” Tanith said. “No need to peddle me the sick grandmother story too. _Fenedhis_ , what am I supposed to do with you?”

“Fen… what?”

“Never mind.” Tanith glanced around the farmstead, looking for inspiration. Her eyes settled on the fenced-off yard behind the cabin, where half a dozen hens strutted around in the dirt. “Either of you any good at fixing things?”

“Aye,” Errol said. His voice was still wary. “If we’ve the tools for it.”

“I’ve got tools,” Tanith said. “Roof of the chicken coop blew off in the storm last week. Reckon you could put it back on? I’ll pay you for it.”

“Surely could,” Jeb said. “Thank you, miss.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Tanith said, her lips curling into a smile. “I’d do it myself but I’m missing some of the requisite pieces.” She gestured to her left arm, specifically where it ended just above the elbow.

“You’ll not call the soldiers or nothing?” Errol said quickly. “For firing on you?”

“Only if you do it again. Anyway, we’re miles from the nearest garrison. You turn that bow on me I’ll just set you on fire.” She laughed at their expressions. “Oh, don’t panic. I’ll show you where the tools are.”

The lads looked a little confused as she shooed them towards the potting shed, like they didn’t know whether to be worried or grateful. Tanith wasn’t surprised. She suspected that this had been their first foray into crime, and they had likely not anticipated that their first mark would be a mage. There were not many of her sort around these parts, even now. It had been over five years since the Circles were dissolved, but the majority of the free mages had elected to remain with the new College. Tanith could see why. There was safety in numbers, after all, and the war was not so long ago. Many folk still held mages in fear and contempt, no matter how antiquated that view might be.

She left the brothers sorting through the jumble of tools in the shed — those needed tidying up, another task she hadn’t quite gotten around to — and returned to planting the summer cabbages. A few minutes later she heard the sound of hammering on wood, along with a low murmur of bickering voices. Tanith smiled as she pushed the seedlings into the earth. It had been a while since there were other voices on the farm but hers.

By early evening Tanith had ticked off most of the major items on her list. The sky had remained clear all day, though the breeze off the surface of the lake was now lending a welcome coolness to the air. She rubbed her back as she stood, wincing at the pain there. Tanith was sure that she had once spent weeks travelling the length of the continent, battling deadly foes. She did not remember her back ever aching so much then.

When she walked around to the back of the cabin she found the brothers putting the finishing touches on the chicken coop. They had done a fine job of it too, removing the loose boards and replacing them properly, not just hammering a few planks across the gaps as she might have done. Their cheeks were pink from the heat and the exertion, the backs of their tunics damp with sweat.

“I’m impressed,” Tanith said, resting her hand on her hip. “There’s a water barrel out back there. Go and drink something before you pass out.”

They nodded gratefully, putting their tools back in the shed before going for water. Tanith went into the cabin and pried up the loose floorboard near the fireplace, lifted out one of the heavy purses hidden beneath it. She counted a few coins out into her hand, put them into the pocket of her apron, then carefully replaced the board. When she went back outside the boys were sitting by the lake shore, jostling one another as they talked. Their weapons still lay abandoned in the grass.

“Here,” Tanith said, holding the money out in the palm of her hand. “I think this should cover it.”

Errol got to his feet and walked over to her, Jeb following a few paces behind him. The younger boy’s eyes widened when he saw the gold glinting there.

“Maker, that’s more than enough,” he said. Errol punched him on the arm. “What? It is.”

“Thank you, miss.” Errol plucked the coins from her hand and shoved them quickly into his pocket. He reminded Tanith of a stray animal, one you had to coax out gently or risk it biting.

“Just Tan, please. None of this ‘miss’ business,” she said. “I was about to make some dinner, if you’d care to join me.”

“No thank you,” Errol said quickly. “We should be getting home.”

Jeb frowned at him. “Don’t be so bloody rude.”

“I’m not—”

“Gran always says you should be kind to folks who offer their hospitality—”

“Oh, give it a rest—”

The two bickered like this for a few minutes while Tanith waited patiently for them to finish. Eventually Jeb wore his brother down, and Errol reluctantly accepted the invitation. Tanith found herself unreasonably pleased. Creators, how dire were times that she was this grateful for the company of strangers? It must have been a month since she had last spoken to anyone, save for Corin.

She sent the boys to draw in the lines from the jetty while she collected cheese and pickled onions from the pantry and took the bread from where it cooled on the windowsill. As she always did when it was warm, she laid a blanket down in front of the cabin and set the food out there. When Errol and Jeb came back with the fish — they’d had the sense to gut them by the lake — Tanith kindled a fire in the pit, fighting back a grin as the brothers stared open-mouthed at her. Sometimes it was easy to forget that there were people in the world who had never seen magic used before, even in this workaday fashion.

“Miss,” Jeb said, a question in his voice. “Are you… I mean I don’t know if it’s rude for me to ask, you know?”

“ _T_ _an_ ,” she said. “Ask away. I promise I won’t be offended.”

“Are you Dalish?” His cheeks coloured as he spoke. “I just saw the tattoos and thought. You know. I’ve never met one before.”

“I used to be,” Tanith said as she propped the skewered fish above the flames. “Long time ago, now.”

“Did your clan hunt humans?”

“ _Jeb_.” Errol buried his face in his hands.

“What? I’m only asking!”

Tanith laughed. “No. My clan were fairly tame on that front. Very little human-hunting.”

“Oh, right.” Jeb looked almost disappointed. “How long have you been here, then?”

“About five years now, more or less.”

“Haven’t ever seen you down the village. I’d remember.”

“Yes, people do tend to remember the one-armed Dalish elf with the staff. Which village is that?”

“Crale,” Errol said. “Couple of miles east of here.”

“I’ve probably been there,” Tanith said. “But not recently. I go down to Redcliffe once a month or so, for the essentials. That’s about as close to civilisation as I get these days.”

“Don’t like Redcliffe,” Errol said, shaking his head. “Too crowded. Can’t hear yourself think.”

Tanith smiled to herself at the thought of a life so quiet that Redcliffe felt like a bustling metropolis. She wondered how Errol would fare in Val Royeaux. “Have you always lived in Crale?”

“Aye, all our lives,” Jeb said. “But our mother was from _Denerim_.” He said the word as though it inferred great exoticism and mystery.

When the skin of the fish began to crackle Tanith lifted the skewer from the fire. She used a knife to push two steaming fillets onto each plate, then handed them to the boys and gestured for them to help themselves to everything else. They didn’t hesitate, carving off great slabs of bread and tipping onions out of the jar. It wasn’t since her days in the clan that Tanith had observed the bottomless appetites particular to teenage boys. Corin rolled in the grass beside her, catching morsels of fish that she tossed into the air for him. 

“You know,” Tanith said as she chewed. “There’s plenty of work needs doing on the farm. If you’d come back tomorrow I’m sure I could find something to keep you busy.”

“Really?” Jeb said eagerly.

Errol shifted where he sat. “We’ll have to think about it.”

“What’s the alternative?” Tanith asked. “Go threaten some more poor farmers with arrows?”

“Don’t be so stiff, Errol,” Jeb said. “It’s not like we’ve got any better ideas, is it?”

“S’pose not.”

“Great.” Tanith snapped her fingers. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Once they had finished their meal the boys collected their abandoned weapons and said their goodbyes. Tanith watched them go, pushing each other as they made their way around the lakeshore. Creators, she could barely _remember_ being that young.

Once she had cleared the plates away Tanith put a shawl around her shoulders and went back outside. She loved to sit here in the evenings, watching the changing colours of the sky, reading in them the pattern of the coming weather. From the bands of pink and orange that whispered at the edges of the clouds it looked to be another fine day tomorrow. Corin put his head in her lap has she sat there, the weight of it a reassurance.

Tanith stroked the short fur on the back of his neck. “It’ll be nice to have some company, won’t it boy?” She looked out at the gently rippling surface of the lake, watching as the stalks of blood lotus swayed in the wind. “It’s been a while.”


	2. Cloudreach

Tanith woke as the sun was rising, as she did most mornings. She rose slowly, combing her fingers through her hair, plaiting is as well as she was able to keep it out of her eyes for the day’s work. Corin was sleeping soundly on the floor by the foot of the bed, his leg twitching, pursuing some invisible prey. Tanith stifled as a yawn as she set the kettle over the fire to warm, then picked dried nettles and water mint from the bunches hanging from the beams. She added the leaves to the pot, covered them in boiling water, left them to steep as she dressed.

Once she had finished her tea Tanith felt almost awake. She went outside and found the morning overcast, long ribbons of cloud mottling the sky in grey and purple, like an old bruise. There were days like this, by the lake, when the world felt too large for itself. The mountains to the south jutted sharply from the ground, the shelves of rock bare but for a few slender trees, and the damp earth seemed to hum with new life. It was spring, and the land was waking from its slumber.

Tanith found a spot by the shore and sat cross-legged in the grass. The morning dew was cool against her feet, the surface of the lake rippling in the wind. It seemed quiet here, if you weren’t listening. If you ignored the rushing of the waterfall, the susurrus of a thousand-thousand leaves, the small music the insects made, the croaking of the frogs, the creak of the jetty. She pressed her fingers into the dirt, breathing in the vegetal smell of it, then closed her eyes and let the cacophony of sound envelop her.

Gradually the noises blurred, coalesced, roared low like the ocean. Within that rumbling Tanith picked out little snatches of something else, quiet voices, whispered words. Some were in her mother tongue, and these she understood; others were in a language she had never learned, but she knew their meaning regardless; some were as obscure to her as the moon.

When she had fallen out of that last eluvian all those years ago, bloodied, broken, half-dead, she had thought the gifts of the Vir’Abelasan lost to her along with her arm. Another thing torn from her by force, like the Anchor was. For months there was nothing but silence, a yawning void where the whispers had been. Tanith had not realised how acclimatised she had become to the presence of them until they was gone. It was only when she had come here, to this place that was nowhere, that she had begun to hear them again. They spoke to her in the sighing of the wind through the trees, the sweet trill of birdsong, the melody the crickets made at sunset. At first it was only in fragments, half-heard murmurs that Tanith put down to her own fragile state of mind. But over the months and years they had grown stronger, clearer, more difficult to ignore. Now, on days like this, when the world sang to her in all its savage beauty, Tanith could almost draw the whispers to her.

Deshanna had always told her that all Keepers communed with nature itself, that she should be able to read the world around her like an open book. Tanith had never understood her meaning. In all her years with the clan she had never connected with the environment in the way her teacher had, and had felt the lesser for it. Here things were different. On the shore of the lake, in the soil of her garden, out in the woods, there she felt it. All she had to do was listen.

There were images too, mingled in with the voices, static flashes of temples, cities, battlefields. She tried to focus in, seeking out the one she hunted. Tanith concentrated on her anger, her hate, made a candle flame of it in her mind. _Where are you?_ she asked. _Where have you made your den, Dread Wolf?_ Shadows crept in, hiding the pictures from view, dulling the edges of the words. Sometimes she found him; forever at the peripheral, forever in the dark. Tanith committed these images to mind, searching out clues among the relics.

“Morning!”

The voice snapped Tanith from her reverie, and the world spun sharply for a moment before righting itself. She shook her head to clear it and stood, stretching out the stiffness in her knees. From the position of the sun behind the clouds she knew she must have been sitting there for at least an hour, though she could have sworn only minutes had passed.

“Morning,” she called back.

The boys were walking up the path, Errol with a hessian sack slung over his shoulder. They had come nearly every day for the past month, lending a hand on the farm in exchange for a few coins. At first it had been little more than an act of charity, to give them some semblance of gainful employment, but soon Tanith had come to realise what a help it was to have them there. She had grown used to working one-handed, and her magic was often an advantage, but there were simply not enough hours in the day to perform all the myriad tasks that needed to be done. With Errol and Jeb’s assistance she had finally manage to stake out another plot of land, turning the soil ready for planting, and they were gradually making their way through the list of minor jobs that Tanith had been putting off for months. She had come to enjoy their company too, in an odd way. They argued with each other, teased, fought, usually with affection, sometimes not. It was amusing to watch them, though they were always polite with her. Jeb had been congenial from the day she had met him, though Errol was slow to emerge from his shell. He was on that awkward cusp between adolescence and adulthood, feeling the need to carry himself like a man without any of a man’s experience.

Errol dropped the sack on the floor in front of her now, panting from the effort of hauling it up the hill. “Here’s them oats, like you wanted. Arin tried to charge me the full two silvers for them but I wasn’t having it. Here.” He fished some coppers from his pocket and handed them to her. “Change.”

“Keep it,” Tanith said, waving him away. “Consider it a downpayment. The gutter’s broken. That’ll be a fun day’s work for you.”

“Not surprised,” Jeb said. “That thing’s been threatening to come down for weeks.”

“And now you can put it back up again,” Tanith smiled. “Be quick about it. It’ll be raining by the afternoon.”

“Nah,” Errol shook his head. “Won’t come on till sundown now. Trust me.”

“Is that so?” Tanith said, raising her eyebrows. “Bet on it then. Penny each way.”

“You’re on.” A rare smile. “Is that timber still out back?”

“Last I checked.”

“Right.” He punched Jeb on the arm. “Let’s get to it, shit-for-brains.”

“I swear I’ll—”

The sound of their arguing faded as the boys turned the corner of the cabin. Tanith went back inside, took a quick inventory of her medicine stocks. Sparsely populated as this part of the Hinterlands was, she was not its only denizen. There were plenty of other folk in the foothills; smallholders like herself, charcoal burners, the odd traveller making camp for the night. Every now and again they came to her for their potions and their poultices, occasionally a little magic if she trusted them enough. Her stores were running low, so she slung a satchel over her shoulder and set off towards the woods.

Corin trotted at her heels as she foraged, marking every tree, lunging at the occasional rabbit that darted out from the undergrowth. Tanith scraped long strips of willow bark with her belt knife, cut sprigs of elfroot and embrium and crystal grace, tucked them carefully inside her bag. The morning’s whispers had faded to almost nothing now, no more than a quiet buzzing at the back of her mind. While she was pleased to see them, it was a shame that the boys had interrupted her when they had. It was a good day for listening.

As Tanith had predicted, the heavens opened just after the sun had reached its height. She straightened up and walked back towards the cabin, enjoying how the spring rain fell in cool drops on her skin and woke the scents of the budding trees. Her crops would be enjoying this interlude, after the long weeks of heat earlier in the season. She imagined them sucking in the water through their roots, unfurling their leaves, growing strong for the harvest.

Errol and Jeb came inside not long after she did, holding their jackets over their heads to keep the rain off. When he walked in Errol wordlessly placed a copper on the kitchen table, which Tanith snatched up triumphantly.

“Told you,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I haven’t got magic, have I?”

“It’s not magic tells me things, Errol. It’s all there if you look for it. Lunch?”

Tanith ground up some of the oats that in a mortar, added salt and whey and fried the cakes in a pan above the coals. There were still a few jars of spiced pears left from the previous autumn so she put them out too, along with some of the spinach the weevils hadn’t got to. When the oatcakes were golden she lifted the pan from the fire and placed it on a cloth in the middle of the table.

Jeb frowned at her hand while she was setting out the plates. “I didn’t know you were married, Tan.”

“What? Oh.” Most days she wore her wedding ring on a chain around her neck, keeping it clear of the soil, but the previous night she had slipped it back onto her finger. “Yes.”

“How long as he been gone?”

She wrinkled her nose, counting backwards. “Three months now, give or take.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The boy’s voice was grave.

Tanith burst out laughing. “Creators, lad, he’s not _dead_. He’s taking care of some business in Antiva.”

“Oh, right.” Jeb’s round face flushed with embarrassment.

“Maker’s blood, Jeb,” Errol sighed. “I could spit in your ear and it’d come right out the other.”

The boy swatted at his brother. “Well, I’m sure when your husband gets back there’ll be little enough for us to do.” His voice was too light, a little forced.

“Don’t worry,” Tanith said. “I’m not about to turf you out. You’ve been a great help around here, and I’m sure you’ll continue to be so once he’s home. Besides, neither of us are getting any younger.”

It was exactly what she had said to Blackwall the day the letter had arrived. The two of them had been sitting by the hearth as a winter storm raged outside, Tanith with her back to him while he trimmed her hair, something he did whenever one of them remembered. Corin was sleeping in front of the fire, his ears twitching with every howl of the wind.

“Neither of us are getting any younger,” Tanith said. “Especially not you.”

“Yes, thank you.” Blackwall smoothed a lock of hair out between his fingers and cut the end of it. “All the more reason to go now.”

“Why go at all?” Tanith said, turning around to face him.

He took hold of her shoulders and firmly turned her back again, resuming where he had left off. “Hold still. Because it’s important, Tan. You know that.”

“How long has it been now? A dozen years? More?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Tanith fell silent for a moment, staring sullenly into the fire and listening to the metallic _snip_ of the shears. During Blackwall’s penitent’s journey in the years preceding the Exalted Council one of his company had eluded him — his lieutenant, a man named Girard. Despite numerous enquiries by the Inquisition his whereabouts had never been discovered, something that had been a constant source of chagrin to Blackwall. But that morning a letter had arrived, written in a hand Tanith recognised as belonging to one of her former agents, claiming that Girard had resurfaced in Rialto. Blackwall seemed to think it essential that he pack up and leave for Antiva as soon as was possible. Tanith did not agree.

“We don’t even know if the information is good,” she said at last, turning around again.

“Maker, woman, if you don’t keep still—”

“It could be a false lead. Antiva isn’t a short journey. That’s months, not weeks.”

“I know,” he said, sighing. “Come with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” She gestured around. “We’ve land to keep. It won’t tend itself.”

“So let it fallow. It’s not like we’re short of coin. We won’t starve without a harvest.”

Tanith looked down at the flagstones. “It’s not just that, and you know it. If Cassandra sends word for me she’ll send it here. I can’t leave, Blackwall. Not until we know where he is.”

“I suppose that’s true.” He looked wretched, his face twisted into that fraught expression which she had once known so well, the one that had rarely surfaced these past few years.

Tanith softened a little then. She reached out and took his free hand in hers. “Let it go, emma lath. Don’t you think you’ve done enough atonement?”

He shook his head. “Not if I can get that letter and ignore it. If I decide I’m done making amends just because a few years have passed then I was never sincere in the first place.”

“Always so fucking noble.” Tanith couldn’t keep her pride from mingling with the frustration in her voice. She leaned forward, kissed him. “Fine. Go. Leave me here with the cabbages. See if I care.”

“You’ll not be waiting long,” he said. “I promise. Now, will you keep _still_ for two minutes so I can finish what I’m doing?”

Tanith rolled her eyes at him, turning round to face the fire. She stretched her toes out towards the flames, trying to thaw out some of the winter chill. This wasn’t bad news, she told herself. It was something that he needed to do, and the farm would keep her busy enough until he returned. Yet still there was a knot in her stomach that she could not ignore, a disquiet that would not leave her. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the warmth of the hearth, Corin’s somnolent growls, the light tugging of the shears against her hair.

“Tan?”

Errol’s voice brought her back to the present. He was looking at her expectantly, as though he had just asked her a question.

“Sorry,” she said. “I was miles away. What was that?”

“I was just wondering whether we could take the cart into town next time it’s dry. The mason in Crale’s got a good bit of granite going. We were thinking we could put up some drystack around the back field, keep the rabbits out.”

“Sure,” she said. “Sounds great.”

The rain showed no sign of slowing any time soon, so once the boys had finished eating she sent them home. There was very little for them to do when the weather was this disagreeable. Tanith spent the next few hours sorting through the spoils of her morning’s foraging. Some of the plants she tied with twine and hung from the rafters to dry, some she left to steep for tincture, some she simply put in a drawer to deal with another time. She could not seem to muster any enthusiasm for her tasks.

Instead she sat with her back to the cabin wall as the rain pattered its staccato rhythm against the windowpane. She tried to find the whispers among the sound of it, strained to hear them, but they had faded to near silence. They did this sometimes, their mercurial presence strong one moment and fled an hour later. So instead she listened to the rain simply for the sake of listening, letting it lull her into something that was almost like sleep.


	3. Bloomingtide

“Really?” Tanith asked. “Are you sure?”

“Certain,” Jeb said. “She asked specific. Wants to say thank you for getting us in work again. And she’ll clout us if we come back without you saying yes.”

She smiled. “Well, I guess I have to then, don’t I?”

“Should warn you though, she’ll fuss like anything.” Errol looked up from the length of fence he was painting. “You’ll not be allowed to leave until she’s pushed five loaves and a bottle of homebrew on you.”

“That doesn’t sound as unappealing as you think it does,” Tanith said. She was kneeling at the edge of the vegetable patch, sowing squash seeds in the fresh-tilled soil. After she pressed each one into the earth she gently covered it over, then placed an upturned jar on top to shield the delicate seedlings from rabbits.

“She’s bloody nosy too,” Jeb said. “Gran’ll know your whole life story before long.”

Tanith’s mouth made a tight line. That prospect was less attractive. “Do me a favour,” she said. “Make sure she doesn’t ask about this, okay?” Tanith touched her fingers to what was left of her arm. “I don’t talk about that. Wouldn’t want her taking offence.”

“‘Course,” Errol said. “We’ll have a word.”

Tanith sent them home after lunch, wanting the afternoon for herself. In truth, she also wanted to make a good impression on the boys’ grandmother. There was a part of her that was certain that the elderly woman would take one look at her, at her ears and her vallaslin and her scars, and would insist that Jeb and Errol never came to the farm again. If nothing else she could at least try and make herself more presentable.

It was a warm day, so she bathed in the lake, floating on her back in the still water for the longest time as she watched the puffs of cloud make shapes overhead. _Mala suledin nadas_ , the voices whispered. _Dirthara-ma_. Tanith held her breath, ducking underwater, saw her hair fan about her like seaweed, caught bright flashes of silver among the silt. When she finally hauled herself back onto the jetty she lay in the sun for a while, letting the heat of late spring dry her skin. Her nails were filthy but there was little enough she could do about that. Not that a country woman was likely to notice or care about such things. Tanith was used to presenting herself to nobles and emissaries and ambassadors, not agrarian grandmothers. So why was she so much more nervous now than she had ever been back then?

She found a shirt and leggings that were moderately clean, pulled a comb through her damp hair with great effort. It occurred to her that a human household would be expecting shoes, and she toyed with the idea of pulling on her winter boots before deciding against it. Far too hot for rabbit fur. If her host did not have an entrenched distrust of elves, she might even consider it a charming quirk.

Then there was the matter of gifts. It seemed rude to turn up at this woman’s door empty-handed, if Tanith was to be her guest. She searched the cabin for something that might be considered acceptable, sifting through drawers and cabinets and, while finding a great many items she had forgotten that she owned, she came across nothing particularly gift-worthy. Reluctantly she settled on a bottle of elderflower wine — the _last_ bottle — and quickly dug up some of the season’s first radishes, dirtying both her hands and her knees in the process. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. The sun was beginning to sink low in the sky, and Tanith didn’t want to be late.

Crale was in the next valley over, not far as the crow flew, but enough of a distance that she felt justified in taking the pony. Comet was an ancient little thing, sturdy but wilful, and he huffed and stamped as Tanith loaded her gifts into his saddlebags and climbed onto his back.

“Oh, hush,” she said, giving him a tap with her heel to stir him onwards. “I’m not that heavy.”

Brandy, the beautiful bay mare who had been their wedding present from Dennett, was away with Blackwall, and Comet had been in a foul mood ever since his stablemate had departed. He trudged slowly over the rocky slopes of the valley, snorting in protest whenever Tanith tried to encourage him to move faster. By the time they were halfway to Crale she was beginning to wonder whether she might have been better off on foot after all.

The western horizon was fading to lilac when they finally rounded the corner to Crale. To call it a village was an exaggeration; to call it a town would be a mockery. Half a dozen of the half-timbered roundhouses so common in this part of the world, a communal brick oven, a covered well, not very much else. There were a few chickens pecking about the dirt road through town, staying obstinately still as Comet clopped slowly past them.

Jeb and Errol were sitting on the front porch of one of the houses, and they came over to take the pony’s reins as Tanith dismounted.

“Gran’s losing her mind,” Errol said, without preamble. “She’s not had a guest to dinner in donkey’s years.”

“Hope you like pies,” Jeb said. “She’s made about forty.”

Tanith took the satchel containing the wine and radishes from Comet’s saddlebag and slung it over her shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

The brothers gave each other a look that suggested they would rather she do anything but. They radiated embarrassment, that particular adolescent aversion to being seen within a mile of an older relative. Tanith’s anxiety eased a little, seeing them so shamefaced. It occurred to her that they probably placed her firmly in the ‘old’ category, along with their grandmother and most ruined castles. Not an encouraging thought.

Once Comet was safely tied up Errol lead the way into the cottage, with Tanith following behind him and Jeb bringing up the rear like an honour guard. The moment the door opened Tanith was hit by a wall of warm air thick with the smells of cooking; roasting meat and woody herbs, fresh bread, dried fruit, yeast, sugar. It was enough to make her mouth water. A partition across the round building separated the back third into private rooms, leaving the rest as an open living space. There was a heavy oak table already heaving with food, a hearth built high despite the heat, and a great number of copper pots hanging from hooks along the wall. A large tabby cat lay sleeping on a woven rug by the fire, its tail lashing irritably.

“Gran,” Errol said. “She’s here.”

A very small, very wrinkled woman turned from where she had been slicing cheese at the kitchen sideboard. Her white hair was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head, and the hands she wiped against her apron were knotted with age. For a moment she simply stared at Tanith, squinting as if she was struggling to focus. Then her eyes went owlishly wide.

 _Here it comes_ , Tanith thought. _Knife-ear, apostate, savage…_

But instead the old woman dropped into something like a curtsy, wobbling a little as she bent her head low. “Merciful Andraste,” she breathed. Her accent was even thicker than her grandsons’. “To what do I owe this honour, Your Worship?”

Errol and Jeb looked askance at one another.

“Gran,” Errol said, his voice wary. “What are you doing?”

The old woman straightened up and glared at him. “What’re you talking about, Errol Taylor? Don’t you know who this is?”

“Ah,” Tanith said, feeling queasy. “Right.”

Jeb looked from her to his grandmother and back again, his face a picture of confusion. “This is Tan. The lady who owns the farm up the lake, remember? You asked us to invite her for dinner?”

“This,” the old woman said, gesturing at Tanith with another curtsy, “is Mistress Lavellan. The Inquisitor. My lady, I’d recognise you anywhere.”

“Oh, great,” Errol said, his face deadpan. “Gran’s gone mad.”

She cuffed her grandson round the back of her head, standing on tiptoes to do so. “Don’t be so bloody rude. I thought I taught you better than that.”

“ _Gran_.” Jeb spoke very slowly. “I think you might be a little bit confused. This is _Tan_. She owns the _farm_. By the _lake_.” He was cuffed shortly afterwards.

“Look,” Tanith sighed. “I think I might owe you an explanation.”

“I think you might do,” Errol said. “What’s going on?”

Tanith ran her fingers through her hair, suddenly uncomfortable. Having the acquaintance of people who didn’t know who she was had been a refreshing change, and being confronted with her former title had thrown her off balance. She looked at Jeb and Errol. “Your grandmother’s right. I did hold that title, a long time ago.” Then she turned to the old woman, trying to keep her voice as polite as possible. “But they’re right too. I’ve not been ‘Inquisitor’ or ‘Mistress Lavellan’ for years. These days I’m just Tan. I plant carrots. I own a goat. There’s really no need to stand on ceremony.”

“Are you taking the piss?” Jeb said.

Tan shrugged at him. “Unfortunately not.”

“Explains a lot, actually,” Errol grunted. “The gold for one. What the bloody hell you doing living out in the woods, though?”

The boys’ grandmother looked like she was about to crack their heads together, but she took a deep breath in and smiled up at Tanith instead. “I apologise for my boys,” she said. “They were dropped on the head quite often as infants.”

“Gran—”

“You shut your mouth, Jeb Taylor.” Her voice was sharp. “Can I get you something to drink, Your Worship? We’ve cider, and a little jenever somewhere—”

“Actually,” Tanith unslung her satchel and handed it to her. “I’ve brought you something. To say thank you. For inviting me.” She held it out stiffly.

“Well, would you look at that,” the old woman said as she looked through its contents. “Now that’s manners, boys. You might learn a thing or two from Mistress Lavellan.”

“Hang on,” Jeb said. He had been standing with his mouth half-open for the last minute or so. “You were the _Inquisitor_?”

“Creators.” Tanith pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes, Jeb. I’ll tell you all about it later. I promise.”

“You better had.”

“Boys, lay the table now.” Their grandmother’s voice was a command. “Maybe when you’ve food in your mouths you’ll stop talking for a minute.”

They slunk away to bring plates and cutlery out from the dresser, whispering to one another all the while. Tanith turned to her host and smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think… there’s not many people round here who’d know me any more.”

“Sorry if I embarrassed you, dear.”

“Not at all.” She put her hand on the old woman’s shoulder. “But please, it’s just Tan these days. And what should I call you?”

“Agnes,” she said. “My word. Never thought I’d be on first name terms with someone like you. Makes me feel like a noble.”

“If it helps, I’ve never been a noble.” Tanith frowned. “Well, technically I’m a Comtesse. But that’s a long story.”

Agnes’ eyes went suddenly serious. “Do you remember Crale, at all?”

“No,” Tanith said. “I can’t say I do.”

“You came through here once.” Her voice was quiet. “I won’t ever forget it. The war had damn near torn this place apart. Apostates hiding in the woods, ambushing travellers. Templars taking what they wanted from our homes. My son — the boys’ father — he died in the war. They tell you that?”

Tanith shook her head. “No, they didn’t.”

“Wasn’t even fighting.” She laughed bitterly. “Just rode back from Redcliffe on the wrong morning. I don’t know what happened, but he wound up with his purse gone and a sword through his gut.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t your fault. The day the Inquisition marched through was the day it ended. You brought peace to this place, dear, even if you don’t remember it. I stood on my doorstep and watched you walk past. Couldn’t have been ten feet from me.”

Tanith searched her memories, trying to recall the dirt road, an old woman’s eyes, but found nothing. In those days there had been so many towns, so many doors. After a while every settlement they liberated had blurred into one.

Agnes seemed to sense her discomfort. “Don’t worry. I don’t expect Crale stood out much on your travels. Never thought I’d see you here again, I’ll say that much for nothing.”

“I was a long time getting here,” Tanith smiled. She looked over at Errol and Jeb, who were presently scuffling in a corner. “How long have they been with you?”

“Since their father passed. Their mother died when they were little. They’re good lads, really. I hope they’ve not been too much trouble.”

“Quite the opposite.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Agnes beamed at her. “Right, now. Let’s get you fed.”

The boys hadn’t been exaggerating. Agnes had prepared enough food to feed a small army, and Tanith barely knew where to start. There was lamb cooked so long and slow that it all but fell off the bone, potatoes blistered from the coals and dripping with salt butter, peppery chickweed, apple tarts spiked with plump raisins, fresh plums that spilled juice the colour of blood. Tanith ate as much as she was physically able, and then slightly more at Agnes’ insistence. By the time the meal was over she felt almost drunk, and wanted nothing more than to curl up next to the fire with the cat and go to sleep.

After dinner she told them — in the briefest terms possible — how she had gone from Dalish First to Inquisitor to humble farmer. She skipped everything between her defeat of Corypheus and her purchase of the lake. Some stories were not for telling. The boys hung onto her every word, Jeb looking dazed, Errol cynical. To Tanith’s relief they did not seem to be angry with her over the ommission. They asked a thousand questions, which Tanith did her best to answer, until Agnes interceded and told them to leave her alone.

“It is a shame, though,” Agnes said, “that them in Orlais stopped your work.”

“Actually, I stopped it,” Tanith said, leaning back in her chair. “I gave the order for the Inquisition to disband.”

The old woman blinked at her. “But why?”

 _Because I know what became of the Evanuris. Because I have seen what power does unchecked. Because I was tired._ “We’d served our purpose. There are enough armies in the world.”

Errol nodded, his eyes dark. “True enough.” Tanith wondered how old he would have been during the war, the one that took his only living parent from him. Nine? Ten? Old enough to remember, in any case.

“Still can’t believe you had a castle and you’re living here,” Jeb said. “You’re mad, you are.”

“Possibly,” Tanith grinned. “But if I wasn’t, you’d be out of a job.”

She stayed late that night, in the round cottage on the dirt road. It had been a long time since she had eaten at someone else’s table, had tasted food not from her own fields. Agnes fussed over her, as the boys had promised, but Tanith found that she didn’t much mind. The old woman reminded her of Josephine, in an odd way, with her constant pottering about, her attentiveness, her insistence that everything be _just so_. When Tanith finally left Agnes stuffed her saddlebags full of more food than she could hope to eat in a month, and despite all protests would not take no for an answer. Comet whinnied with irritation throughout, clearly incensed that his burden was to be even greater on the journey home.

The boys and their grandmother waved from the door as Tanith rode off towards the lake. When she looked back and saw them silhouetted there a ghost of a memory came to her; a town like this one, still smoking from the last battle, a woman shadowed against the firelight. Whether she was remembering Agnes or someone else entirely Tanith could not say. But still, she was glad of it. The Inquisition’s early days were a blur to her now. So much had been overwritten by what came after, by the fear and the hate and the pain that still woke her in the night, the agony radiating from a hand that was no longer there. It was so easy to forget the good they had done. That she had done.

It took her a long time to get home. Guiding Comet up rocky slopes in the dark was no mean feat, and by the time they arrived back at the cabin she was half-asleep in the saddle. It was all she could do to stable him and unload the saddlebags before she collapsed into bed. She slept swiftly that night, though her dreams were troubled things. There was the sense of a great weight above her, pressing down from the sky, crushing the air from her lungs. When she tried to cry out no sound came, only a whisper in a voice that was not her own.

 _Iras ma ghilas sahlin?_ it asked her. _Where will you go now?_


	4. Justinian

“Morrigan!” Tanith shouted, her hand cupped around her mouth. “Get down from there! How many times?”

Morrigan looked up, bleated, then continued chewing on the thatch. It had become a habit of hers, to climb onto the roof of the cabin when no one was watching. Tanith still had no idea how she managed to get up there.

“Goat stew!” Tanith yelled. “Horn buttons. Kid gloves. _Ma halam_!”

Her threats did not seem to concern the goat. Morrigan stared her down for a moment, eyes flashing yellow, then resumed her consumption of the roof.

Tanith rubbed at at her temple. No amount of cheese was worth this. “Da’mi!” she called. “Come here, will you?”

A moment later Jeb jogged round to the front of the cabin, cheeks pink from exertion. “Everything alright?”

Tanith pointed.

“Shit, again?” he said, looking up at the goat.

“Apparently so.” She rested an apologetic hand on his arm. “Time to get the ladder, I think.”

Jeb heaved a sigh and slunk off to retrieve Morrigan from her perch. He had spent rather too much time over the past few months ushering her down from there.

Tanith returned to the blanket in front of the cabin, where she had been sitting before the bleating from overhead had distracted her. Summer had swept in early that year, bringing with it a long stretch of clear days and clement weather. Tanith had taken the opportunity to cut and dry reeds from the lake, and was now in the process of weaving them together into a basket. It had been difficult, at first, learning how to do this one handed, but years of practice had paid off. She could hold the piece still with her feet or her teeth as needed, keeping her remaining hand free for the more dexterous work. Early on she had experimented with magic for such tasks, but more often than not her body was just as capable of carrying out these small efforts on its own.

She found she used her magic less and less these days. It was a wild, combative thing, ill-suited to the gentle work of the farm, and there was rarely a need for it. Occasionally she would use it to kindle a fire, or heat water, or frighten away the birds that swooped down to peck at freshly-sown seeds, but these were acts of convenience rather than necessity. The more mundane forms of labour whiled away the days, kept her mind and her fingers occupied for long hours. Out here there was nothing but time. She had to fill it somehow.

When her back began to ache from hunching over her work Tanith stood and stretched, rolling out her neck as she considered what else there was to do. Jeb and Errol were busy sowing fennel in the back field, and would require no assistance from her. The floor of the cabin was swept, the eggs collected, the first young potatoes pulled up and stored. Ordinarily she might mix up some dough and let it rise for the afternoon, but Agnes had sent a fresh loaf up with the boys that morning. While the Taylor family’s recent appearance in her life had been a blessing in many ways, it did create spaces where boredom could creep in. When she was tending the farm by herself there was always something to do. Now she often found herself restless, lacking occupation.

She walked around to the back of the cabin, where Jeb and Errol were planting early fronds of fennel in the tilled soil. Morrigan, down from the roof now, was attempting to reach the delicate leaves through a gap in the fence. Every time Jeb pushed her away she came right back again, snapping at his hand for good measure.

“That goat is a menace,” he said as Tanith approached.

“She’s as challenging as the first one was. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good,” Errol said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Only a few more to go. Assuming madam here doesn’t eat them all.”

“Right.” Tanith nodded. A thought occurred to her. “Hey. Want to finish early and watch me blow stuff up with lightning?”

“Yes,” they said quickly.

“Thought so. Come on.”

A few minutes later they were on the other side of the lake, a respectable distance away from anything valuable that could be damaged. Tanith had brought her staff with her, and she leaned against it as she looked for the perfect spot. It was plain enough that could pass for a walking stick to the untrained eye, though Tanith could feel where power crackled beneath the rough wood.

“There,” she said, nodding towards a patch of grass that was mostly clear of trees. The last thing she wanted to do was start a forest fire. “Do you have that kindling?”

“I do.” Jeb had brought a stack of firewood up from the cabin, and he crouched to lay it on the ground. “What now?” He was brimming with excitement, shifting from foot to foot as Tanith levelled her staff. For weeks now he had been asking Tanith to show him more of her magic.

“Throw it,” she said. “High as you can.”

Jeb took a piece of the firewood and tossed it into the air. It flew a few feet upwards before dropping back to the ground, scattering the rest of the stack on impact.

“Oh, Maker’s blood, give it here.” Errol picked up one of the sticks and launched it upwards, sending it high above the treeline.

Magic was like breathing. You drew energy it into your body, then expelled it. There was a balance, an equilibrium, one that had to be carefully controlled. If you took too much magic into yourself the results could be catastrophic, wild spells that discharged violently and with a will entirely of their own. Too little and the spell would dissipate, drifting into the air like smoke, stinging whatever it touched. Wielding magic — wielding power — was not about taking in as much as possible. Such flawed logic led to mages succumbing to demons, becoming abominations in their pursuit of greater potential. No, magic was about precision. It was about judging how much was needed and drawing no more than that. It was about honing that power to a point as sharp and exacting as an arrow, and loosing it towards your target.

Tanith pulled the world towards herself, just a little, feeling her limbs tingle with it. Then she pointed her staff towards the now-falling piece of kindling, directed the energy up through her shoulder, her arm, into the twisted length of wood. A bolt of energy arced from the end, hitting the firewood in mid-air where it exploded in a burst of light and splinters.

Jeb whooped out loud, laughing as he pointed to the place where the kindling had once been. “Did you _see that_?”

“I’ve got eyes, Jeb.” Errol’s voice was still surly, but he couldn’t fight the grin that spread across his face. Showy, pointless magic. Always a crowd-pleaser.

“Want to go again?” Tanith asked.

Jeb’s eyes went wide. “Can you do fire next?”

“Sure,” she shrugged. “Why not?”

They wasted the next hour like this. One of the boys would toss a chunk of firewood into the air, and Tanith would blast it out of the sky with whatever element took her fancy. It felt good using her talents again, like stretching out a muscle that had been idle for too long. Her body hummed with energy, little echoes of magic singing in her blood. The whispers made a countermelody, _telanadas, telanadas, telanadas_.

Eventually there was nothing left of the pile of kindling but a scattered circle of woodchips and ash. Tanith leaned against her staff, breathing hard. Out of practice.

“You know we’re going to have to replace that, right?” she said.

Errol snorted. “Knew there’d be a catch.”

“Worth it,” Jeb said.

As they walked back towards the cabin Tanith felt that particular lethargy come over her, the sudden sapping of energy that came from sustained magic use. The sun was beating down overhead and she had to stop several times to wipe away the sweat beading on her forehead. It occurred to her then that, if she was forced to use fight under duress, her recent lack of training might put her at a disadvantage. She had used more magic putting on that show for the boys than she had for months prior. Perhaps such displays, ostentatious as they were, might serve a purpose after all.

“What does it feel like?” Jeb asked when they were halfway back around the lake. “Magic, I mean.”

“I might as well ask you what it feels like not to have it,” Tanith said. “I’ve nothing to compare it to.”

“Yeah, but it must feel like _something_ ,” he pressed. “You can’t shoot fire out your hand and say it’s the same as sneezing.”

“I guess that’s fair.” In truth Tanith knew of one worldly sensation that almost compared to magic, but she wasn’t about to discuss it in this company. “It’s like… have you ever climbed a mountain?”

Jeb pointed to the high slope above the lake. “I’ve climbed that.”

“Right. So you know when you get to the top, and you’re exhausted, and your muscles are burning, but you feel like you’ve got more energy than you did at the bottom? Your heart’s pounding and all you want to do is keep going?”

“Sure enough.”

Tanith frowned. “It’s not really like that. But a little. You never want to stop once you’ve started. That’s the danger of it.”

“You always say magic isn’t dangerous,” Errol pointed out.

“It’s not,” she said, looking out across the water. “People are.”

There was a woman standing outside the cabin when they returned. She was dressed in the uniform of the Redcliffe guard, and kept glancing from the front door to something in her hand.

“Morning,” Tanith called as she approached. “Looking for someone?”

“Yes, miss,” the guard said. “Are you—” she looked down “—Tanith Lavellan?” The woman pronounced the name oddly, putting all the emphasis on the a’s.

“That’s me.”

“Letter for you.” She held out an envelope.

“Oh!” Tanith handed her staff to Errol and dashed forward, fishing around in the pocket of her apron for a coin. She found one of the silvers she had put aside for the boys — she’d replace it later — and pressed it into the guard’s hand. “Here. Thank you.”

“You're welcome, miss. Take care.”

Tanith’s heart was in her throat as the guard handed the letter to her, but it sank again when she saw the script on the envelope. She recognised the familiar sharp l’s, the slight flourish on the n’s. Cullen. Not him.

She tucked the letter into her pocket and walked back over to the boys. Errol was holding her staff like it might blow up at any moment, and he looked relieved when she took it back from him.

“Anything good?” Jeb asked.

“Friend in Highever,” she said. “He writes sometimes. Hurry up, now. That wood isn’t going to chop itself.”

Tanith prepared lunch as the boys hauled up logs, split them into kindling and stacked the piles neatly against the south wall. She put Agnes’ loaf on the table with a pat of butter and a small round of cheese, just come to maturity and sharp on the tongue. The morning’s eggs she boiled in the kettle, throwing in a handful of chard for the last minute, then drained the water out of the kitchen window. Finally she went outside and filled an earthenware bowl from the gooseberry bush that grew, by luck rather than design, round the back of the potting shed. On the way back she popped one of the green berries into her mouth, pursing her lips at the sourness.

She read Cullen’s letter while the three of them ate, the boys chattering away to one another like magpies while she skimmed the neat lines.

 _I hope this finds you both well,_ it began. _I’m sorry that it’s been so long since we were last able to visit…_

The rest of the missive continued in much the same way. Cullen and Eva were in fine fettle, from the sounds of things, their son now fast approaching four years old and another on the way. Tanith realised with a pang of guilt that she hadn’t seen them since Hadley was a baby. When she had first bought the land Tanith had every intention of leaving it every once in a while, visiting friends, tying up loose threads, but she had never managed to get around to doing any of these things. She didn’t have the time, what with farm to attend to and — if she was being honest with herself — she did not especially want to. Not when here felt like home, and when home felt like safety.

When she had finished reading Tanith tucked the letter back into her pocket, tried to feel cheered as she stared idly out of the window. Her friend and his family were healthy, their sanctuary for former Templars still going strong. She should be pleased, should be comforted to know that her loved ones were well. But she could not forget the lurch in her stomach when the guard had handed her the envelope, the cold disappointment when she realised it was not from Blackwall. He had written almost every week when he first set off on his journey, letting her know where he was and where he would next be travelling. The most recent missive said that he was almost in Rialto, and he had promised that he would write again upon his arrival. Nearly two months ago now.

“Penny for ‘em,” Jeb said, nudging her.

“I’m just tired.” Tanith forced a smile. “Haven’t done magic like that in a long time.”

“Pretty crap showing for the all-powerful Inquisitor,” Errol said, his eyes teasing.

“Yeah, well,” she said. “I’m rusty.”

Jeb leaned in. “What else can you do?”

“Could throw you to the other side of the room with my mind. Want to try?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Tanith rested her elbows on the table, sighing. She could go to sleep right now, sleep for days, like she used to when they first came to this place. Waking for a few hours in the afternoon, dazed and tearful, then crawling back underneath the covers to seek oblivion once more.

The whispers were dormant now. Her mouth tasted bitter.


	5. Solace

There had not been a summer like it in the years since Tanith had bought the cabin. Weeks upon weeks of unrelenting heat, the sun’s light blinding where it broke in fractals across the lake. The soil was dry as dust, and Tanith seemed to do very little but haul buckets of water up to the fields to keep the crops from withering. Her cheeks and shoulders, always dusted with freckles, were now all but covered. When the sun was at its peak it was impossible to work comfortably, and she had taken to spending the early afternoons sprawling in the shade with Corin. When the boys were around they joined her, chewing on meadowsweet and dozing in the grass.

One morning Tanith was sitting on the lakeshore, salting fish for the winter. She had spent a good hour lying on her stomach on an overhang above the water, gently tickling trout into a stupor, and had managed to catch more than she could eat before it spoiled. The flesh of the fillets was cat-tongue pink, the skin iridescent where it caught the light. She had just finished packing the last box when she heard raised voices from the other side of the cabin.

When Tanith went to investigate she found Jeb and Errol scuffling in the cabbage patch. The boys often fought, in the ways that boys do, pushing and smacking each other for the slightest perceived offence, or often for no reason at all, but this was different. There was genuine anger in the way Errol shoved at his brother, the way that Jeb lashed out inexpertly with his hands and elbows.

“Hey!” Tanith shouted. She sent a little magic through the sole of her foot as she stamped it on the ground, making the earth quake just a little. It was enough to make them spring apart, still glaring daggers at each other as they brushed the dirt from their clothes.

“He started it,” Jeb said.

“Did not.”

“Care to tell me what’s going on?” Tanith asked.

“It’s nothing,” Errol said, too quickly. His hair was standing on end at the back, and there was a small tear in one of his shirt sleeves.

“Look, if you scrap on your own time that’s none of my business,” Tanith said, resting her hand on her hip. “But if you’re going to ruin my garden while you do it then I think I have a right to know.” She nodded down at the neat rows of cabbages, several now half-crushed or torn up at the root.

“Shit,” Errol said. “Sorry.”

Jeb piped up. “He’s just pissed off because—” Errol thumped him on the arm. “Ow!”

“Give that a rest,” Tanith said. “Next one to throw a punch gets frozen. I mean it.”

The boys shuffled a few steps away from each other, mumbling apologies.

“He’s being a prick,” Errol said. “That’s all.”

“S’not all,” Jeb snorted. “Just because you’ve got your eye on Annis Bennett and she won’t—”

“Shut _up_ , Jeb!”

“Woah, hang on,” Tanith said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Is this about a girl?”

“Tan, really, it’s nothing.” The colour was high in Errol’s cheeks, and he couldn’t seem to look up from his feet as he spoke.

“If it’s nothing then why are you always hanging round the granary, eh?” Jeb eyed him sharply. “Got something to do with her walking past every morning?”

“Eat shit, Jeb.”

“Well that’s a yes.”

Tanith smiled to herself as she watched them bicker, the ridiculous, overblown anger of embarrassed adolescents. From the way Errol was blushing she was sure that his brother had the right of it. Whoever this girl was, he was smitten. “Alright, break it up. Come with me.”

“Where we going? This patch needs finishing.”

“The patch can wait. We’ve got more important things to discuss.”

She beckoned with a finger and they followed her inside the cabin. Once they were sitting at the kitchen table Tanith opened a bottle of small beer and poured them each a measure, then pulled up her own chair opposite them. The boys looked confused, seemingly nervous at this sudden change of pace.

“Okay,” Tanith said, looking at Errol. “Tell me about this girl, da’assan.”

“Why?” he grunted.

“Because I’m interested,” she said. “And because, believe it or not, I have some experience in these matters.”

“Dunno what to say.”

Jeb had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face at his brother’s obvious discomfort, but it soon fell away when Tanith glared at him.

“Well,” she said patiently, turning back to Errol. “What do you like about her? There must be something.”

He shifted in his seat. “Well. She’s pretty.” A warning glare at Jeb. “And her Da’s got the biggest pig farm in the valley. It’d make for a good dowry.”

Tanith waited for him to list off further reasons, but none appeared to be forthcoming. She rested her chin in her hand. “Right,” she said. “I suppose that’s a start.”

“This is all pointless, Tan,” Jeb said. “She’s too up her own arse to look twice at him anyway.”

“She is not,” Errol said sharply. “Annis isn’t like that. She’s just… proud, is all.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Tanith said. She stood up and paced the cabin as she spoke. “It’s not just about what you like about this girl. It’s what you _respect_ about her. This is the Hinterlands, there’s not exactly a shortage of farm girls around here. There must be something that makes her stand out. She’s proud, that’s a start. What else?”

“Well… she’s different,” he said. “She doesn’t sit around batting her eyelashes like some of the others, that’s all. She doesn’t suffer fools.”

Jeb rolled his eyes. “Definitely wouldn’t suffer you.”

“Shut up, you little bastard.”

“No, this is good,” Tanith said, growing animated. “You want to court this girl, you need to let her know that you _see_ her.”

“What d’you mean?” Errol frowned.

“It’s like—” Tanith gestured, trying to find the words “—it’s all very well and good liking her because she’s pretty. But liking her because she’s tough, and she’s proud, that’s something else. You have to let her know that you’re seeing who she _really_ is. If you want to court her, that’s how you go about it.”

Jeb grinned at her, his eyes teasing. “That how your husband courted you, miss?”

Tanith laughed. “If you asked him he’d probably tell you I was the one who did the courting.”

“None of this matters, anyway,” Errol said, clearly exasperated. “I’ve only talked to her a half dozen times. She doesn’t speak to me.”

Tanith thought for a moment, tapping a finger against her jaw. “Do you have your letters, da’assan?”

“Of course.” He seemed almost offended at the question.

“Okay,” Tanith said. “Then write to her.”

“You what?” Errol looked incredulous.

“You heard me,” she said. “Write to her.”

Jeb shook his head. “I’d pay ten sovereigns to see this idiot write a love note.”

“You won’t have to. I’m not doing it.”

“Why not?” Tanith asked.

“Because it’s _stupid_ ,” Errol said. “None of the other lads in the village are off writing letters to girls they’re sweet on, I can tell you that.”

Tanith made a low noise of frustration. “That’s precisely _why_ you do it. If this girl is as pretty and her pig farm as bountiful as you claim then she’s probably got a dozen boys chasing after her. You have to show her that you’re different from the others. That you _think_ differently.”

Corin, who had been snoozing on the hearthstones, chose this moment to wake up and pad into the kitchen. He butted his head against his mistress’s leg and she stroked his ears absently.

“I don’t know.” Errol seemed far from certain about the prospect. “What if she thinks it’s stupid?”

“She might,” Tanith admitted. “But if it’s that or mooning over her silently for the rest of your life, what’s the better option?”

“She’s not wrong,” Jeb said.

Errol sighed, rubbing at his jaw. “Fine. I’ll give it a go.”

“Good lad,” Tanith said approvingly.

“What do I _say_ , though? ‘Hello Annis, how’s the pigs?’”

“You know, it’s really not essential to mention the pigs,” Tanith said. “In fact, I’d probably suggest you put the pigs out of your mind altogether.”

“Well, what, then?”

Tanith sat down again, took a slow sip of her beer. “Be gentle,” she said quietly. “Bold, but gentle. Tell you that you admire her, and tell her why. Tell her you think about her.” She tapped two fingers over her heart. “Tell her how she makes you feel.”

“Never had you down as a romantic, Tan,” Jeb chuckled.

Tanith’s mouth twisted into a smile. “There’s lots of things you don’t know about me, Jeb Taylor. Anyway, off with you both. Get the patch finished up before it’s too hot to think.”

She shooed them out of the kitchen then, clearing away their empty cups. Corin trotted at her heels when she walked back outside, sniffing around the packed boxes of fish as she sealed them up and stowed them in the pantry. The sunlight made every colour brighter, every blade of grass and butterfly wing and spot of lichen shining like a jewel.

The previous day Tanith had spotted aphids creeping across the trellis where her runner beans were growing. She pounded garlic and a little sheep fat in the mortar, diluted it with water from the kettle and carried the mixture to the garden. It was her own recipe, something she had read about once and adapted over the years, tweaking it a little every season. For the next hour she methodically wiped the mixture over the surface of each pod, the tiny hairs flattening under her touch. It was finicky, mindless work, the kind that let her thoughts drift. The whispers came, as she knew they would, but they were nebulous things today, all half-heard words and phrases that trailed to nothing.

When the sun reached its apex she called the boys for lunch. They ate fat summer tomatoes and cool goat’s curd in the shade of the willow tree, the hanging branches casting dappled shadows across their faces. Jeb tussled with Corin, tugging on one end of a stick while the mabari pulled hard on the other. Tanith rested her back against the wide trunk of the tree and watched Errol. He was staring at the ground, mouth moving soundlessly, penning words to the wind.

The afternoon’s languor didn’t leave easily that day, and little more work was done. The three of them went half-heartedly about their chores, pausing often to rest or indulge in idle talk, and eventually Tanith declared that there was no point in trying to do anything in this heat. Jeb and Errol went home early, promising they’d return the next day to finish the tasks they had started.

While Jeb was getting ready to leave Errol walked across to where Tan was leaning in the doorframe. He spoke to her quietly. “Are you sure I should?” he said. “Write to her, I mean.”

“I’m sure it’s the best suggestion I have,” she said. “Whether or not you take it is up to you.”

“Right,” he said quickly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled. “She’d be lucky to have you.”

Errol’s cheeks flushed red. He nodded at her, then turned and jogged over to where Jeb was waiting for him.

When the boys were gone Tanith returned to the cabin, grateful for its shade, the stones cool against the soles of her feet. Without thinking too much about what she was doing she walked into the bedroom, felt about at the edge of the mattress for the slit in the fabric. Her fingers touched parchment. She pulled the stack of letters from their hiding place and spread them out on the quilt, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside them. The paper was old now, brittle and yellowing, some of the corners dog-eared. She picked one at random, unfolding it carefully.

 _Tanith_ , it read. _I wasn’t sure if I should write again, but since you’ve been so insistent I can’t see that I’m left with much choice. You’re a difficult woman to say no to. I’d hoped to catch a few minutes with you after we got back from Redcliffe but it seems our new allies are keeping you busy. I’m pleased that you did what you did. There’s plenty here who would have been happy to use force with the mages. It would have been easier to, I’m sure. But it gave me hope to see you stand firm. You don’t back down or shy away once you’ve made your choice. I admire it. One of the many things I do. I thought that—_

The next word blurred suddenly, the ink spreading as a drop of something fell onto the paper. Tanith lifted her hand to her face and found that she was crying.

“Oh, stop it,” she said to herself, wiping her face dry with the back of her hand. “Stupid.” She pushed the fragile parchment carefully out of reach, away from where her tears could damage it. It had been a foolish thing to do, a self-indulgent thing, to wake her pain this way. Carefully she packed the letters up and put them back where they came from, clenching her jaw so hard it hurt.

Missing him wouldn’t make him come back any quicker. Wouldn’t make him come back at all. She ran her fingers through her hair, too long already, and forced herself to composure. There was work to do. Wiping her hand dry on her apron, she went outside to feed the chickens.


	6. August

Over the weeks the summer began to mellow. The heat of Solace, white-hot and blinding, calmed to a lazy warmth that made the land itself lethargic. In the fields around the lake the summer crops grew plump and verdant; neat rows of lettuces, featherlike carrot-tops, blooming potato flowers, fat striped marrows, canes heavy with raspberries and pea-pods. The work of the past half year was finally paying off. When Tanith walked the boundaries of her land she felt a simple, honest pride, a satisfaction in her labour that years of leading the Inquisition had never provided. She could listen to the soft rushing of the waterfall, the chickens clucking gently in the yard, and almost feel at peace.

“Ain’t never seen a glut like this,” Errol said one day, leaning back to wipe the sweat from his forehead. They had filled three crates with early harvest already, and were poised to fill two more before the day’s end. “You’re never going to eat it all, you know.”

“I know,” Tanith said. She dug carefully around a stem of beetroot with her trowel, then placed it down and pulled the plant from the ground in one hard motion. “You two can take as much as you like. Anything that’s left after I’m done making the preserves you can take to market.”

“You’ll fetch a tidy price for all this,” Jeb said approvingly. “It’s good land, here.”

“I don’t think the land’s got much to do with it,” she said. “First year we bought the place we couldn’t get a thing to grow. A lot of this is down to the two of you.”

The boys puffed out their chests a little, clearly pleased with the compliment. It was well deserved. Most of the labour had been theirs, and their years of experience working on the land had improved the farm immeasurably. Tanith enjoyed their company, too. She had not expected to be alone here for so long, and having people to talk to eased a little of that ache.

“You know, it’s probably too late in the season now,” Errol said. “But I reckon you could keep hives out the back there.”

“Bees?” Tanith asked. She smiled in spite of herself, thinking of Sera.

“Sure enough.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a low, trumpeting sound that echoed across the landscape.

“What was that?” Jeb said. “Sounds like a hunting horn.”

Errol frowned. “No game around here this time of year.”

“Over there,” Jeb said. “Reckon it was them?”

Tanith looked in the direction he was pointing and saw a group of people with a wagon approaching along the lakeshore. The sun was in her eyes, making it difficult to see, and she lifted her hand to shield them from the light. When she realised who it was she laughed aloud.

“Am I going mad,” Jeb said, suddenly pale, “or does that man have horns?”

Tanith abandoned the garden and darted out through the gate, waving as she ran full pelt towards the Chargers. When she reached them Bull swept her into a hug that lifted her several feet off the ground, then set her gently back down again.

“What are you _doing_ here?” she asked, half-breathless with excitement.

“Got a job down in Gwaren,” he said, grinning. “Couldn’t pass through Ferelden without dropping in, boss.”

“Creators, am I glad to see you.” Tanith pulled her braid over her shoulder, then stepped aside to smile at the rest of them. “All of you.”

“Can’t believe you’re a farmer now,” Krem said, looking around at the fields. “Thought the chief was joking when he told us.”

“No, all true. If you’re lucky I’ll introduce you to the goat. What’s that for?” She nodded towards the wagon. “You doing delivery runs now?”

“Ah,” Bull made a gesture with his hand, and a couple of the Chargers began untying the covering from the wagon. “Not quite.” With a flourish they pulled it back, revealing several large barrels and what appeared to be an entire suckling pig. “Couldn’t have a reunion without a party, could we now?”

Tanith tilted her head back, beaming. “Did I mention that I’d missed you?”

“Missed you too, boss.” Bull turned back to his men. “Get it unloaded, boys! We’ve got some catching up to do.”

Tanith led Bull back to the cabin and introduced him to Jeb and Errol, who had been staring open-mouthed at the qunari ever since his arrival. He gave them each a handshake that almost pulled them off their feet, and then crouched down to rub Corin’s belly.

“Where’s that husband of yours hiding, anyway?”

Tanith pursed her lips. “Antiva. He’s travelling.”

“Ah, no shit.” Bull looked disappointed. “Sorry I missed him.”

Tanith opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. “What’s the job in Gwaren?”

“The usual,” he sighed, standing up. “The Teyrn has bandits ambushing his tax collectors. Haven’t had an interesting job in too long.”

“Aw,” Tanith said. “No dragons recently?”

“Not _one_. The Inquisition may have been a clusterfuck of demons but at least we fought dragons.”

“Wait.” Jeb, who had been standing a respectful distance away, stepped forward. “Tan, did you fight a _dragon_?”

“Dragon _s_ ,” she said. “Plural.”

The boy’s eyes went very wide. “You’re kidding me.”

“She isn’t,” Bull said. “Shit, remember that one we took down in Orlais? The place with all the trees? She was a beauty…”

They spent the next few hours unloading the wagon and getting everything ready for their impromptu celebration. Bull and the boys built a fire up in the pit and spitted the pig above it, filling the air with the savoury-sweet smell of roasting pork. The rest of the Chargers set about pitching their tents along the lakeshore, tapping the barrels and banishing the silence with their talk and laughter. They ate sitting on the ground outside the cabin, meat slippery with fat and skin blistered to crackling, a few jars of apple chutney that Tanith had dug out from the pantry, ale bright and bitter on the tongue.

By the evening everyone was a little drunk, and had scattered in groups around the farmstead. Krem was sparring with Jeb, who laughed a little manically every time he was knocked off his feet, Grim, Rocky and Errol were drinking quietly on the jetty, and Dalish, Stitches and Skinner were throwing sticks into the lake for a highly overexcited Corin. Bull and Tanith sat by the cabin, their backs up against the wall as they watched their friends.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, boss,” Bull said. “But the quiet life suits you. It’s a good setup you’ve got here.”

“It’s not bad, is it?” Tanith said, smiling.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to trade in killing things for planting onions. But it could be worse.”

“How's life on the road?”

“Same as always,” Bull said. “We fight, we get paid, we drink. That’s how we like it.”

“Never change.”

“Not planning on it.”

The sun was dipping low in the sky now. Insects buzzed lazily from flower to flower, alighting between the petals before drifting away again. The fire was burning low, and the heat of the day had faded to a comfortable warmth. Tanith closed her eyes and listened. Not whispers for once, not long-dead gods; just people. Here and close and alive.

“How long’s it been since you heard from him?” Bull, his intuition ever-sharp.

Tanith kept her voice deliberately neutral. “Four months. Nearly five.”

She had been hoping that Bull would shrug, say something flippant, do anything that might put her mind at rest. Instead his heavy brow knotted into a frown. “Shit. Really?”

“Yeah.” Tanith leaned her head back against the cabin wall. “Really.”

“I mean, I guess that makes sense,” Bull said quickly. “You said he was in Antiva, right?”

“Rialto.”

“Well, there you go.” He nodded decisively. “Antiva’s been in a pissing match with a few of the Marcher states for a while now. There’s not a whole lot of ships getting through these days.”

Tanith tried to find some reassurance in this, and could not. The threat of war in the same region where Blackwall was travelling did not fill her with hope.

“Have you spoken to our friend on the Sunburst Throne?” Bull asked. “If anyone could find him…”

Tanith shook her head. “I’m sure Leliana has better things to do than look for people’s missing husbands.”

Bull gave her an odd look then. “You know you’re not just _people_ , right, boss? You saved the fucking _world_. I think you’ve earned a few perks.”

“I am ‘just people’, Bull.” She gestured out to the cabin, the fields, the lake. “I’m no one. I like it that way. Dragging Chantry spies into my business isn’t… I can’t do that. Besides,” she sighed. “She’s already got her best agents searching Thedas on my behalf. I can’t ask for more.”

“Ah,” Bull said. “On that topic.” He pulled a slightly crumpled letter out of his pocket and handed it to her. “We came through Nevarra on our way south. Ran into an old friend. She gave me this to give to you.”

Tanith opened the letter and smoothed it out in her lap. Cassandra’s spidery hand, only a handful of lines. Once Tanith had read it three times and committed its contents to memory she leaned forward and fed it carefully into the fire, watching as the paper turned to ash and scattered away in the breeze.

“Anything interesting?” Bull said, too nonchalantly.

“Please,” Tanith gave him a wry look. “Like you didn’t read it on the way. You can take the man out of the Ben-Hassrath…”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Bull said. “You got me. Seems like they’re getting close now, huh?”

She nodded. “Looks that way.”

“So. You ready to go out and save the world again?”

Tanith looked out across the lake. She looked at the neatly-planted fields and the painted fences surrounding them, the jetty stretching out over the still surface of the water, the rugged slope of the mountain, the sprays of wildflowers near the shore, the smoke curling up from the dying fire. She looked at the boys and the dog and her friends, thought of the pony and the goat in the stable, the white chickens pecking in the yard. She thought of the ring around her finger and the letters hidden like a promise inside her mattress.

“As I’ll ever be,” she said quietly.

“You know you don’t have to, right?” Bull looked at her seriously. “You’re a big deal, but you’re one woman. There’s an army’s worth of people ready to go whenever that asshole shows up again. It doesn’t have to be you. Not this time.”

“I think that sometimes,” Tanith said. “And then I think about putting my hand around his throat and squeezing until there isn’t a breath left in his body.” Her voice trembled. “I have to see him die, Bull. I have to see it for myself or I won’t believe he’s really gone. None of this is ever going to feel like it’s safe while he’s still alive. As long as he’s living, I can’t.” She finished on an outward rush of breath, clenching her fist hard in her lap.

Bull nodded slowly. “I get that. You say the word and I’ll be there, boss.”

“Ma serannas, lethallin.” Tanith rested her head on Bull’s shoulder and he put his arm around her. She leaned into the warm weight of him, feeling truly secure for the first time in months. “When do you have to be in Gwaren?”

“Ah, there’s no rush,” he said. “Thought the boys deserved a bit of a vacation anyway. If it’s all the same to you we’ll stick around for a week or two.”

Tanith smiled. “I’d love that.”

“Besides, Rocky’s real keen to check out that dwarven ruin behind the falls. He thinks there might be something in there worth salvaging.”

“I swear, if he brings that mountain down—”

“I’ll make sure he’s supervised, don’t worry.”

“Good. Shit, do you remember that time he almost blew up the Skyhold armoury?”

Bull burst out laughing. “I do now! Damn, the look on Cullen’s face. Thought he might actually try and throw a punch at me.”

“I think I’d pay to see that.”

They didn’t turn in till late that evening. Jeb and Errol were far too drunk to stumble down the valley back home, so Tanith dug out a couple of blankets and sent them to sleep in the stables. She said goodnight to Bull and the Chargers, most of whom were still drinking, and headed back to the cabin. Corin decided that he was going to sleep on the bed that night, and for once she allowed it. The room span pleasantly around her as she lay down, the mabari’s low snoring more of an amusement than an annoyance. She could hear the Chargers outside, singing some tavern song, their fire casting a little light through the window. For once, Tanith slept long and soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea why ao3 keeps duplicating my end notes, whoops! you can follow me on tumblr at @filthyknifeear or twitter at @elfthirst - thanks so much for reading! think this is going to be nine chapters in total.


	7. Kingsway

The bonfire burned tall and hot, sending showers of sparks flying into the night sky. Someone had produced a fiddle earlier in the evening, and a reel accompanied the pairs of dancers as they span around the village square. Tables had been dragged out of cottages onto the roadside and spread with the best of the season’s produce; boiled ham hocks, wedges of roasted squash, black iron pots steaming with braised vegetables, wheels of sharp cheese, loaves of seed bread and cask upon cask of beer.

Tanith had visited the harvest festival in Redcliffe several times, but this was her first year spending it in Crale. It was a smaller celebration, given the size of the settlement, but no less lively for it. While few people lived in the village itself there were plenty of remote farmsteads and cottages around these parts, and their occupants travelled down into the valley to mark the turning of the season. Unlike in Redcliffe, the people in Crale began their festivities by burning an effigy, a straw man wearing a paper crown. Errol informed her that it represented Meghren, the Orlesian pretender to the throne, and that its burning had been tradition for as long as he could remember. The people in these parts had long memories, it seemed.

Earlier in the evening Tanith had accepted Jeb’s invitation to dance, laughing as he swung her around the square with far more enthusiasm than skill. After a few songs she went to sit on one of the long benches around the bonfire, nursing her drink and watching the people of Crale as they celebrated the end of summer, the coming autumn. If any found her appearance strange they didn’t remark on it. She had visited Crale a number of times since meeting the Taylor family, and had come to know most of its inhabitants in passing. They were good people, for the most part, honest and hard-working, quick to help one another when needed. Tanith wondered what it must be like to live somewhere like this your whole life, for your world to be so small, so quiet. She envied it, in many ways.

Over the course of the night Tanith saw Errol dance with one girl a number of times. She was tall, strong-featured, with hair the colour of flame. At the end of one jig he bent his head to her in a gesture that was almost a bow, then gently brushed his lips against the back of her hand. Tanith saw the way that the girl flushed despite her careless expression, how her other hand went unconsciously to her throat. She smiled to herself. If this was the famed Annis Bennett, she guessed that Errol was well on his way to winning her heart. It seemed as though her advice had paid off after all.

Tanith was topping up her flagon from one of the barrels when a man approached her. She recognised him— Crale’s wainwright, who the boys had brought up to the lake when the cart’s axle had snapped over the summer. He was a tall man, softly-spoken, with a heavy brow that gave him a permanently taciturn expression. Tanith could not remember his name.

“Evening, mistress,” he said. “Enjoying the festival?”

“I am,” she smiled. “And yourself?”

“Aye, yes,” he said, nodding slowly. “Always strange to see so many people in the village.”

Tanith laughed quietly to herself. The crowd here wouldn’t fill half of Skyhold’s hall. “Have you always lived in Crale?”

“Not always. Grew up out near South Reach. Moved down here maybe fifteen, twenty years ago now. I don’t think I’d be wrong in saying you’re not from these parts yourself.”

“No,” Tanith said. “Wycombe, originally. In the Free Marches.” It was close enough to the truth. Her clan had travelled often through the forests outside of the city, and she had even seen the walls once or twice.

The wainwright scratched at his beard, a contemplative gesture. “I don’t suppose I could prevail upon you to take the next dance with me, could I?” he said. His dark eyes contained another question; polite, restrained, but undoubtedly there.

It caught Tanith off-guard. She hesitated for a moment, then placed down her flagon and spread her hand out in front of him, her wedding ring catching the firelight. “I’m afraid not,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. Thank you, though.”

“I understand.” He bowed his head respectfully. “Enjoy the evening. Good harvest to you, mistress.”

“And to you.”

Tanith sat back down on the benches as he walked away, a dull pain in her chest. Surrounded by people as she was, she suddenly felt profoundly lonely. There was a part of her that almost wished she had accepted the wainwright’s offer. It was not that she found herself tempted to infidelity — never that — but it had been a long time since someone had last held her close, had spoken low words in her ear as their hand rested on her waist, and her body ached with the need of it. She stared out at the bonfire, watching the long shadows the dancers made on the dirt road.

A moment later Agnes came to sit beside her, huffing out a breath as she lowered herself onto the bench. “Maker’s blood, my knees aren’t what they used to be.”

Tanith smiled at the old woman. “Are you well?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “No complaints. But you look sad, dear. I hope you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Just tired,” Tanith said.

“Mmm.” Agnes nodded, clicking her tongue against her teeth. She seemed to be making her mind up about something. Then she reached under the collar of her shirt and drew out a locket, suspended from a fine chain around her neck. She opened it, revealing a lock of hair pinned carefully inside. It was the same sandy colour as her grandsons’, gone brittle with age. 

Tanith looked at her curiously.

“I had forty years with my Dara,” she said slowly. “Forty good years and all. There’s not many get as much as that, or as happy.”

“You were very lucky.”

“Aye, we were.” Agnes’ eyes were far away. “Before we were married he left to fight in the rebellion. Three years he was gone, all told, and not a word from him that whole time. People said I was a fool to wait. Said he was dead like as not, and I’d be better off marrying someone else. Had no shortage of offers, I’ll tell you. I was quite the beauty in my day, if you can believe it.”

Tanith laughed. “I can.”

“But I was stubborn,” she said. “I wasn’t about to give him up until I knew for certain. And a month after the siege of Denerim he turned up on my doorstep. We were married a week later.”

“You must have really loved him.”

“I did,” Agnes said. “There's strength in faith, girl. Means you believe there's good in the world. Even when the world seems set on proving that there ain't.”

There was a lump in Tanith’s throat. “I don’t feel strong.”

Agnes reached over and took Tanith’s hand in her own. Her skin was warm, thin like paper. “That’s alright. No one would expect it of you.”

Tanith stayed at the festival a while longer, but her enthusiasm for the revels had waned. When the moon was high overhead she said goodbye to the Taylor family and set back off towards the lake, the sound of music and laughter fading behind her.

She kindled a little light in the palm of her hand to guide her through the valley, the pale blue glow making the trail look cold and eerie. Her head felt heavy on her shoulders, her feet aching as they trod the uneven ground. Somewhere in the forest a fox barked. The sound of it cut through the night like a blade, sharp and high and jarring. It made Tanith uneasy. The wilderness, usually so familiar, such a comfort, now appeared alien to her eyes. She hurried on, breathing hard as she climbed the hill to Lake Luthias.

The full moon made a twin of itself on the water. As Tanith walked around the shore she recalled the first autumn she had spent in this place. Months had passed since the Exalted Council, but the events were still fresh in her mind. How could they not be, when her body itself was a constant reminder? She had not yet adapted to the loss of her arm and her movements were uneven, clumsy, forever reaching out with a hand that was not there. Her mind had been a maelstrom she could not master, grief and frustration and terror, her traitorous flesh still wracked with pain. She slept often, ate little, woke screaming in the night. Those months had been the worst of her life. But she had not been alone. At least then there had been someone to catch her when she stumbled, to wake her when she cried out in her sleep, to keep watch on those nights when she could barely breathe from the fear. The autumn and winter had passed in a miserable blur, and when spring came Tanith woke one morning to find she was almost herself again. Fragile, raw, like a seedling pushing its tender shoots through the frozen earth, seeking out the sunlight.

When she got back to the cabin Corin was waiting for her. He rose from his spot on the hearth, yawned dramatically, then padded over to her side. Tanith scratched his broad head, grateful for his presence. She had squirrelled a ham bone into her satchel before leaving the festival and she drew it out now, much to the mabari’s delight. He took it back to the fire and held it carefully between his great paws while he gnawed on the end, tail beating against the flagstones.

Tanith walked aimlessly around the cabin, lighting candles and building up the fire, Agnes’ words still ringing like a bell in her mind. What must it have been like, to keep the faith for so long, even while war raged around her? She wondered how many of the Inquisition’s soldiers had sweethearts back home while they were in her service, lovers who waited for them. She wondered how many had never returned.

Her body felt heavy, like her muscles were made of lead. She was slow and unsteady on her feet as she walked through to the bedroom. There was a cedar chest in the corner of the room, on the other side of the bed from where she slept. Tanith knelt down beside it, her hand shaking as she turned the key in the lock and lifted the lid. Such mundane contents. Books and clothing and keepsakes, simple things, ordinary things. There must be a chest like it in every home in Thedas.

Tanith pulled out a neatly folded shirt and buried her face into the fabric, breathing in the scent of it. The first cry that tore itself from her throat was strangled, animal. Her shoulders shook as she wept, her head full of the smell of cedar and woodsmoke and leather, _his_ smell. She found that she was not only crying for the lack of him, but for the knowledge that this scent would fade with time, would cease to cling to the cotton, and that one day there would be nothing left of it. If Blackwall was gone — truly gone this time — there would be a morning where Tanith would wake up to discover that their home no longer contained a trace of him.

A thin, worried whine. Tanith felt a weight on her shoulder as Corin laid his head there, his nose cold and damp against her skin. She wrapped her arm around the mabari’s neck and pulled him close to her, cried into his fur. He bore it patiently, solid and unmoving as she sobbed. After a few minutes Tanith composed herself, sitting back on her heels as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Creators,” she breathed. “We can’t do this forever, can we, lad?”

Corin panted, his ears lifted high.

“We need a limit,” she said firmly. “The first frost of winter. If he’s not back by then, he’s not coming back. Does that sound fair?”

The mabari whined again, a low, keening sound.

“No,” she sighed. “No, it’s not fair at all.”

Tanith pulled the shirt onto her back, the left sleeve hanging empty at her side, then shut the chest and crawled into bed. She laid awake for a long time, her eyes half-open and burning, and listened as the dead whispered their lullabies.


	8. Harvestmere

Tanith could barely remember the last time it hadn’t rained. The first downpour began several days after the harvest festival and had been returning intermittently ever since. It had scuppered most of her plans for the autumn, and had thrown both her and the boys into a permanently listless mood. Jeb and Errol had been toying with the idea of building a small waterwheel under the falls, to mill the winter wheat they would sow on the eastern side of the lake, but the inclement weather had put this on indefinite hold.

Instead the three of them did the miserable work the fields demanded, coming in every afternoon freezing and soaked to the skin. There seemed to be stockings permanently steaming over the swing arm, forever puddles of water collecting on the flagstones. It was impossible to keep anything clean when mud was constantly being tracked into the cabin, and while Tanith spent every spare minute scrubbing the place it still looked dirty around the edges. Part of this was simply the light. The endless slate-grey of the clouds made everything look a little dimmer, a little darker.

Even the boys, usually so full of life, were often surly. Errol and Annis had squabbled recently, and he sulked with such fierce commitment that Tanith was reminded of her absent husband. The lack of occupation was making Jeb restless. His goading of his brother became more frequent, often ending in arguments, and more than once Tanith had to drag them off one another before they tipped over the furniture. She was tired all the time, tired to her bones, sick of the rain and the waiting. The whispers had grown louder recently, manifesting often but rarely in any language she could comprehend. It was like having a cloud of midges constantly buzzing around her head, and the low murmur of voices was beginning to drive her to distraction.

One morning there was a blessed break in the rain, and Tanith embraced the opportunity to leave the confines of the cabin. The boys, clearly having the same idea, took Corin down into the valley to hunt rabbits for supper. Tanith was quietly relieved they had not chosen to come with her. As much as she had come to care for them over the past year — and she had, fiercely, with a protective fire she had not previously known she possessed — their recent proximity was beginning to grate on her, and she was certain they must be feeling the same. So she slung her satchel over her shoulder and walked out to the western wood, feeling the earth soft and yielding beneath her feet.

Even though the rain had stopped a thin mist still hung in the air, the wisps of it pale in the odd shafts of light that pierced the clouds. The sickly-sweet smell of rotting things was everywhere, cloying, heavy. Leaf litter carpeted the wood, the trees above half-skeletal and dripping water onto the crown of Tanith’s head as she passed beneath them. While the damp had been miserable for her, it was a wonderful season for mushrooms. She unsheathed her belt knife and cut off woody stems of bay bolete, dimpled penny buns, broad milkcaps. Tanith tried to cheer herself a little, thinking of stewing them in with the rabbit the boys would bring home, the handful of rosemary she would throw into the broth.

She had just knelt down next to a patch of yellow russula when the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Something was watching her. Something close. Tanith froze in place, knife gripped tight in her hand as she listened for a voice, the snap of a branch, but the whispers drowned out all other sound. _Ma halani, ma halani, ma halani._ Her heart was beating too fast, like a caged bird, like prey.

Moving slowly, she rose to her feet and turned. There, standing on the other side of the clearing, looking directly at her, was a wolf. It stood as perfectly still as she did, the guard hairs in its grey fur bristling from the rain. Tanith met its eyes, pools of amber in the dimness, and the world lurched around her. A familiar pain blossoming where there was no longer flesh to hurt. Behind the roar of whispers Tanith was dimly aware of birdsong, the light pattering that told of fresh rain, the shallow rasp of her own breath. Everything in her body screamed at her to run, to flee, to bolt back to safety, but if _he_ was here there was no safety, the reprieve was over, the eye had passed and all that remained was the storm.

They stood looking at one another for what might have been moments, or hours, or aeons. She and the wolf, motionless as statues, the air around them still as a held breath. They watched. They waited. Tanith thought of ruined temples, of sculptures grown over in moss and ivy, and for one wild moment wondered if this would be their fate too. Her arm was burning to the shoulder now, and she gritted her teeth hard against the pain.

_Fen'Harel ma ghilana._

Anger swelled up among the agony. She had faced death three times for his hubris, had lost her arm and her mind and every shred of herself in the process, had clawed and fought her way back to the light, and now, even now, while she should be resting, grieving, living, even now she waited for the call, for the signal that would tell her he had returned, so she could once again lay whatever scraps of life she had in pursuit of him.

“What do you _want_?” The words came out in a snarl. “What do you _want from me_?”

The wolf’s lips peeled back, showing its teeth. Tanith thrust her hand forward, sending a bolt of lightning arcing out from her palm to collide with ground where it stood. It yelped, jumping back in shock, then turned tail and fled back into the woods.

Not him. Not a man, not a god, just an animal, just like her. She let out a long, shaking breath and sank to the floor, heedless of the wet earth. Her head was roaring, the woods shivering and shifting, pain lancing like hot metal through her missing arm. Tanith squeezed her eyes shut tightly, willing it away, but it was no good. She was there again, in that place at the end of everything, the world a perfect summer around her. The soft blue light of the eluvian, the stronger green from the anchor. Her flesh was tearing itself apart from the inside, her body was screaming, _she_ was screaming, and she knew with perfect certainty that she would die here, alone and in agony, begging on her knees as the last of her pantheon turned and walked away.

Tanith sat there as the sky grew dim above her, desperately trying to separate out what was real from what was not. It took a long time. When she had finally collected herself again it was almost dark, and the thin rain had soaked her to the skin. The phantom pain had faded to a low ache now. With great effort she got to her feet, forced herself to walk the half-mile back to the lake. The short journey seemed to take forever. By the time she made it back to the cabin she was exhausted, her temples throbbing with exertion. She tossed her satchel over the back of a chair and sank into it, resting her head on the kitchen table.

The boys returned not long after she did, both them and the mabari covered in mud to the knee.

“Look, Tan,” Jeb said, holding up a full brace of rabbits. “That dog of yours is a— are you alright?” He frowned as she looked up at him, blinking.

“Fine,” she said, knowing this would not convince them. Her voice was as rough as granite, and though rainwater was pooling at her feet she had done nothing to dry herself.

“You don’t look fine,” Errol said. “Maker, Tan, what happened to you?”

“I saw a wolf.” It was all she could think of to say.

“Oh, right.” Jeb sounded a little confused. “There’s always a few of them on the mountain this time of year. Did it go for you?”

She shook her head.

“That’s alright then.”

When she said nothing else the boys moved away to the hearth, speaking to one another in low voices. Tanith heard them moving around, filling the kettle, rummaging in the cupboards. She could not bring herself to focus on any of it.

It had been a long time — years, perhaps — since she had last felt the echoes of that day so intensely. At first it had been near-constant. She had fallen out of the eluvian insensible, remaining unconscious for several days, and when she finally woke the images had refused to leave her. Tanith could be walking up the steps to her quarters, or kneeling in Skyhold’s garden, or drinking with her friends in the Herald’s Rest, and all of a sudden she would be back there again. The viddasala petrified in the reeds, the mirror standing lonely on the hillside. The Dread Wolf watching, indifferent, almost pitying, as the anchor tore her asunder.

The Inquisition had already begun dismantling itself by then. Leaving was no great difficulty. She had purchased the land on a wild impulse, needing to be somewhere still and quiet. Needing somewhere to hide. Over the years the visions had faded, and sometimes Tanith would go for months at a time without remembering. But since Bull had given her Cassandra’s letter the fear had begun to creep back in, darkening the edges of her mind with its presence. It was one thing to live with this terror. It was quite another to do it alone.

“Here.” Errol placed a cup of something dark and steaming in front of her. “Drink this.”

Tanith looked up. The boys stared at her expectantly, their eyes encouraging, as though she were a child about to take its first steps. She lifted the cup and took a cautious sniff — it smelled awful, like liquorice and standing water — then sipped. It tasted almost worst than it smelled.

“Oh,” she said, trying to hide her disgust. “That is…”

“Horrible, isn’t it?” Errol said. “Sorry. Can’t do much about the taste.”

“But it’ll help,” Jeb added.

Tanith frowned at them. “Help with what?”

The boys glanced at one another, looking almost guilty.

“Gran used to make it for Granddad,” Jeb said at last. “On his bad days. She said it turned the stomach but calmed the soul.”

“He saw some awful things, in the rebellion,” Errol added. He looked as though he might say more, but then fell still.

“Well,” Tanith said. “Thank you.” She took another sip, trying to identify the tea’s contents. Willow bark maybe, fennel seed definitely, perhaps a little valerian. They must have gone sifting through her stocks while she stared at nothing.

Jeb and Errol busied themselves cleaning their boots and Corin’s paws, then built the fire up until it was roaring. The heat and light of it leeched a little of the misery from the cabin, the beechwood logs burning with a pleasant scent. Tanith sipped her tea, grimacing at the taste but determined to finish, and watched them at their work. They took great care with her things, handling the poker gently as they stoked the fire, wiping the damp off chairs they had been sitting on. Occasionally one or the other would look up and smile at her.

She was wrong, Tanith thought suddenly. Ever since that day by the eluvian she had been terrified of being alone. Of dying alone. When Blackwall had failed to return from his travels she had thought that fear fulfilled. She missed him, missed him to her marrow, ached for the space where he should be, but this, she realised, meant that she was lonely; not that she was alone. She had the boys, and Corin, and Agnes with her warm smile and warmer words, and a dozen friends across Thedas who would drop everything to come and be with her if only she would write and ask. She was not alone here. She never had been. Not really.

“Da’mi,” she said. “Get one of those rabbits skinned. I’ve got mushrooms for the pot. Da’assan, there should be some barley in the pantry, go and fetch it now.”

They turned, looking surprised that she had spoken, and then nodded and went to their tasks. Tanith got up and sat by the fire, letting the merry heat of it dry the rainwater from her skin. Corin slumped down next to her, his tail wagging gently.

The wolf had taken from her before, and he might take from her again. But right there, right then, her world was her own. That, at least, he could not take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking around this far! next chapter will be the last one


	9. Firstfall

As the autumn faded the rain cleared. The grim weather of Harvestmere gave way to a run of bright, mild days, the air and sweet and crisp as a new apple. The trees made a blanket of red and gold across the hillside, and the woods were a cornucopia of mushrooms, berries, chestnuts. Weeks of rain had not damaged the crops as much as Tanith had feared, and there was still plenty for the winter stores. Preserving it would be her main occupation for the next month. It was not a task Tanith particularly enjoyed, since it involved long hours indoors and made the cabin reek of syrup and vinegar, but there was something satisfying about seeing the pantry shelves full of neatly-labelled jars once it was finished.

Jeb and Errol were busy preparing the farm for winter, making sure the doors and windows were secure against the cold, taking trips into town for essentials in case Tanith found herself snowed in. They would be spending less time here soon, she knew. There was precious little to grow over the colder months, and Errol was due to begin an apprenticeship with Crale’s thatcher. Tanith had assured them several times that she would be fine, and that she would visit them and Agnes as often as she was able, but still there was an ache in her chest when she thought about their absence. For three seasons now they had been filling her home with the life it so desperately needed, their presence and chatter banishing some of the ghosts away.

She would miss them, it was true, but Tanith also felt certain that she would be alright on her own. There were still moments where she felt herself slipping, but for the most part she kept herself under control. The day that she saw the wolf had been bad, the worst for years, but mercifully there had been no repeat of it. Afterwards Tanith had sought out ink and paper and written to her friends, seeking comfort in the shape of familiar names. None had written back yet — they were hard people to reach — but she felt secure in the knowledge that their replies would come. Gradually, quietly, she was putting the pieces of herself back together.

In the middle of Firstfall she woke to a morning so sharp with cold that she thought the frost might have come early. She stepped outside with her heart in her throat, breathing out slowly when she saw nothing but clear skies and grass heavy with dew. It was a beautiful day, the kind where the sunlight sharpens the edges of things, and she bathed in the lake before the boys arrived for the morning’s work. The water was heart-stoppingly cold, her muscles seizing as she plunged below the surface, and when she came up for air she felt more awake than she had in weeks. When she could no longer bear it she climbed out and hurried inside the cabin, to dry and dress and warm by the fire. Her hair reached almost to the middle of her back now, when it was wet, and she pulled it into a clumsy one-handed braid as she sat cross-legged on the hearth.

The boys arrived shortly afterwards, carrying a basket of provisions that Agnes had thrust upon them, and after a swift cup of tea in the kitchen they set about finishing off the last of the harvest. There was little enough remaining that they would likely be finished in a day or two. Tanith couldn’t imagine the farm in winter now, though she had seen it often enough through the years. There were more fields than before, better-tended, and picturing them empty and carpeted in snow was almost surreal.

While the boys were digging out the last of the cabbages Tanith took two clay bowls out to the trellis where the peas grew. There had been an odd, late glut this year, and she filled one of the bowls with fat green pods. She found a dry patch in the dirt and sat down there, began the slow, mindless work of shelling. It was a simple enough task for a single hand. Tanith crushed the pods in her fist, then used her finger and thumb to pop the peas out of their casings. They made a satisfying sound as they hit the bottom of the second bowl, bouncing off the pale clay.

This kind of repetitive work often brought the whispers, and today was no different. They had been quieter than usual of late, all in languages Tanith didn’t know, but this time they spoke more clearly. _Aneth ara, aneth ara, aneth ara_.

“Hello to you too,” Tanith muttered. “Have anything more helpful to say?”

It seemed that they did not, for they soon fell silent. Instead Tanith half-listened to the pigeons cooing in the woods, the peas hitting the bowl, snatched fragments of the boys’ conversation in the next field over.

“Did she really—” 

“I wouldn’t lie—”

“Yeah, but you know what it’s like—”

“A year, she reckons. More or less—”

“Sorry, sir, this is private land—”

Something itched at the back of Tanith’s mind. She frowned, swatting it away like a fly, and returned to her work. As she popped the peas from their pods she thought about all that needed to be done over the next week. The shutter on the kitchen window needed fixing, _again_ , she would have to check there was enough food for Comet, and if there was enough time she could make a start on pickling the season’s last radishes. Nothing tremendously exciting, but it would kill the time.

Corin was barking, a high, puppyish sound that Tanith didn’t recognise. It was somewhere between his food-bark and his squirrel-bark, but not entirely like either.

“Dog!” she yelled, not looking up from the bowl. “Be quiet! _Hamin_!”

If the mabari had heard her he paid no mind. She could barely think past the racket.

“Stupid animal,” she sighed, picking up the next pod and crushing it against her palm.

There was another sound too. At first she had thought it another whisper, quiet at the periphery of her mind, but it was clearer now, the register of the voice somehow familiar.

Tanith realised what was happening in a rush of heat and adrenaline and pure, ecstatic relief, hitting her like a tidal wave. She upset the bowl as she stood, scattering her morning’s work across the soil, heart beating furiously as she bolted out of the gate. For a moment she stopped breathing, thinking herself mistaken. And then she saw him.

Afterwards she couldn’t remember running, couldn’t remember how she got from the back field to the front of the cabin, could only remember throwing herself into his arms, her heels digging into his back, the wild laughter that spilled from her, the warmth of his hands on her skin. She kissed him, heedless of their audience, for what were two boys and a dog when she had kissed him on the steps of the Winter Palace, when she had kissed him in chains as half the court looked on, when she would kiss him at the end of the world if the world demanded it of her.

When she finally broke away she held him at arm’s length for a moment, drinking in the sight of him. Blackwall looked much the same as he had the day he had left. His hair was a little greyer, perhaps, his skin a little more tanned, but it was him, and he was here, and Tanith was not sure that she would ever be able to stop crying.

“Maker, it’s good to see you,” he breathed.

“I’m sorry,” Tanith said, laughing hopelessly through her tears. “Who are you?”

Blackwall chuckled, pulling her close again. “That seems about right.”

Corin was still barking happily, the sound of it almost as joyful as Tanith felt. There was the sound of a throat being cleared, and she turned to see Errol stepping towards them. In truth, she had all but forgotten the boys were there.

“Ah, sorry about earlier, sir,” he said. “We didn’t realise you were—”

“We thought you’d be an elf,” Jeb blurted out.

“I told you I was full of surprises,” Tanith said, wiping her eyes. “Blackwall, meet Jeb and Errol Taylor. They’ve been helping me out on the farm the past few seasons.”

Blackwall stepped forward to shake the boys’ hands, one arm still wrapped around Tanith’s shoulders. “You’ve done a fine job too, from the look of it.”

The boys nodded respectfully to the compliment, standing a little straighter than usual.

“Hey,” Tanith said to them. “Why don’t the two of you take the rest of the day off, alright?”

Errol nodded. “Sure enough.”

“Hang on,” Jeb said. “There’s still half the cabbages to—”

Tanith held out her hand to silence him. “Jeb, the cabbages are not high on my list of priorities right now. Finish them in the morning.”

Errol shook his head and half-dragged his brother away from the cabin. When they were around the corner Blackwall turned to her again, smiling, his hand resting on the back of her neck.

“So,” he said. “We have farmhands now.”

“Yes,” Tanith said gravely. “And we must raise them as our own.”

He laughed. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yes, on that topic.” She smacked him on the arm. “Where the _fuck_ have you been?”

“ _O_ _w_. Antiva.”

Tanith gave him a look. “It doesn’t take the best part of a year to get to Antiva and back.”

“Of course not,” he frowned. “But you know I was held up with—”

“No, Blackwall, I don’t know,” Tanith said, her voice a little too loud. “I haven’t heard from you in _seven months_.”

There was genuine shock in his pale eyes. “Shit. Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“I was told that ships might be slow getting through the blockade, but I never thought… Maker, Tan, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she shrugged. “I gave you up for dead months ago. Got remarried to the local goatherd. Lovely man. I’ll have to introduce you.”

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Blackwall pulled her in, kissed her again. “Honestly, though. If I’d known you hadn’t got the letters… I did wonder why I hadn’t heard back.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she smiled. “You’re here now. So, what happened, then? What was so important that I had to play the village widow for half a year?”

“Well, it took a while, but I tracked down Girard.”

“Did he punch you in the face?”

“He did.”

“Good.” Tanith nodded sagely. “It’s nice to have traditions.”

“Anyway, he was in a sorry state. Wasn’t delighted about accepting my help, of course, but he gave in eventually. Took a few months to get him back on his feet. Then, by the time I was ready to leave, the trade disputes had started—”

“Mmm,” Tanith said, wrapping her arm around his neck. “Emma lath, I don’t mean to be rude, but I haven’t seen you in a _very_ long time. Could we maybe save this conversation about trade disputes for later?”

He stroked his fingers over her throat, along the line of her jaw. “I think we could.”

Hours passed. They were precious things and not for sharing, like the letters tucked inside her mattress.

Later, when the sky was turning dark outside the cabin, they lay alongside one another as the first drops of rain tapped at the window. Tanith’s curls were fanned out on the pillow behind her, and Blackwall ran his hand through them slowly. “Your hair’s getting long.”

She glared at him. “Yes, well. My hairdresser has been otherwise engaged.”

“I suppose I deserved that.” He laughed low in his throat. “I’ll sort it out later, if you like.”

“Please,” Tanith said. She propped herself up on her elbow to better look at him. There was a part of her that could still hardly believe he was home, that was sure this was just another cruel dream. But she had never been able to touch her visions, had never felt them warm against her or smelled them on her skin. This was real. This was true.

“What about you?” he asked. “How have you been?”

“Well, mostly,” she said. “Lonely. But I managed. Good you came back when you did, though. I might have adopted another farmhand.” Tanith smiled, but it was a strained thing.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Creators, but he knew her too well. She sighed, looking down at the mattress. “I had a letter from Cassandra.”

“Oh?”

Tanith felt Blackwall tense, just a little. He knew what that meant. “Yes. She doesn’t think it’ll be long now.”

He whistled out a breath. “Shit.”

“Exactly. I knew it was coming, but still…” she trailed off.

“I know. I’d been half hoping that letter wouldn’t come.”

“Me too,” she said quietly. “But, it did. And now I suppose we have to go and fight for the greater good. Again.” Tanith had meant for the words to be flippant, but they came out sounding bitter. “My knees _crunch_ when I stand up now. How the fuck am I supposed to go riding into battle?”

“How do you think I feel?”

She grimaced. “Well, true. Maybe I should leave you behind. Think you might be more of a liability than a help these days.”

“Oh, thank you. You always know how to make a man feel wanted.”

“I’m teasing. After what you just put me through? I won’t be going to the woodshed without dragging you along with me.”

“Honestly, though, Tan.” His voice was quiet suddenly, serious. “It can’t have been easy for you, getting word of him after this long. How are you feeling?”

She opened her mouth to say that she was fine, then remembered who she was talking to. Over the past few months she had become too acclimatised to holding everything inside. Instead she sighed, laid her head on the pillow. “It’s getting bad again,” she said. “The fear. It’s like… well. You know what it’s like.”

Blackwall nodded. He was the one who had carried her from the wreckage of the eluvian, had sat by her bedside as she slept, had held her through the months of hell that had followed. Tanith had almost forgotten how it felt to speak to someone who understood her so entirely, to whom she didn’t constantly have to explain herself. She felt a rush of love for him then, and leaned in to kiss the slope of his shoulder.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to face him again,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”

He was quiet for a long time before speaking. “You said something to me once. Years ago, now. I’ve never forgotten it.”

“Oh?”

“You said, ‘you don’t know tomorrow any better than I do. One moment at a time’.”

“Wow.” Tanith looked up at him. “I really would just say anything to get you into bed back then, huh?”

Blackwall laughed. “True enough. You know what I’m getting at, though.”

“I do,” she said. Tanith brought her lips to his, for a moment let herself get lost in the feel of him, the scent, the way he filled the space in their home that had sat empty for almost a year. She didn’t want to leave this place, didn’t want to go back out into the world with all its horrors, its complications, its uncertainty. But, deep down, she knew that when the call came she would answer it. She would end the fight — would win, this time — and when she finally returned home she would do so knowing that nothing and no one would trouble her again.

“Alright,” she said, touching her forehead lightly to his. “One moment at a time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking with me loves, I hope you've enjoyed my slice of cabbagecore. follow me on twitter @elfthirst or tumblr @filthyknifeear for more of the same

**Author's Note:**

> i sincerely promise that this has a plot and is going somewhere


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